


Cinnamon

by Abreannero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Boxer Dave, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Control Issues, Dungeon, F/F, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Mental Instability, Obsession, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Prostitute Tavros, Prostitution, Protectiveness, Psychological Torture, Red Romance, Stripper Tavros, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Subjuggulator Gamzee, Subjuggulators, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:57:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 29,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abreannero/pseuds/Abreannero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being laid off his previous, high-paying job, Tavros Nitram finds easy work as a stripper that doubles as a prostitute.<br/>He formed his own schedule, collected his own money, and everything was simple to calculate and perform. His new work, as well as his life, would be fine had he not fallen in love with a boxing, blond regular and his indigoblooded kismesis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falling

  
He could not remember the exact moment when he fell in love, all he knew was that it was with a man, in a boxing ring, with blood splattered around his mouth and red gloves pounding into the troll jumping from side to side.

One of his friends had taken him to a boxing match after work, and he had not known that such a thing even existed. Not boxing in general, but boxing with two utterly different races. The Interspecies Sports Association described it as 'intense' and 'not for the faint of heart' which had the troll uneasy long before he had step foot into the building. He was supposed to celebrate blood and gore, but he often thought twice of his species' former 'advances.'

And now here he was, standing awkwardly among humans and trolls around him, cheering or booing, though his friend was cheering on the blond with surprising enthusiasm.

The boxer wiped the crimson from his mouth with the back of his glove, watched the referee count down before thrusting the tanned man's arm into the air. The crowd roared, and his thin lips quirked into a victorious smile.

The troll's bloodpusher stopped for at least ten seconds as he swore their eyes caught and that smile was for him.

It was then that he was absolutely positive of his feelings. Pity at first sight was not exactly smiled upon, especially for a troll of his age, and definitely not for a human.

Later, when the match was over and the bizarre beer aftertaste was long-gone from his mouth, Tavros could not get him out of his mind. Those brilliant carmine eyes that matched his own blood, the skin stretched over perfect muscle, the sweat that smelled of pheromones.

Reflecting on it, he was not entirely sure how he knew it was pheromones, but in his inner narration, it had to be the scent of pure desire.

For a few weeks, Tavros did not see him whatsoever, but they felt like agonizing sweeps that droned on and on and on.

He was laid off.

His money ran short.

The apartment was soon to be taken away from him.

Tavros spent a week learning how to strut in heels, then another perfecting a couple routines on a smooth metal pole. Two days to mentally prepare himself to wear revealing outfits, and just one to land himself a new job. The blond boxer was a fading memory in the back of his think pan by now, wasting away and collecting dust like a prisoner in a stone dungeon.

The hours were late, the customers were needy and eager, but the feeling of paper sliding into his thong, the Washingtons, Lincolns, Jacksons and occasional Grants filling up and stacking against his gray skin was temptation enough. The highbloods sneered and said he was sculpted for this job, and at times, Tavros believed them.

Weeks passed. Money was steadily raking in, and he was taught to lap dance by his colleauges. More bills, and greediness was already settling in him.

When he saw three Benjamins being waved at him from the bar, and that familiar, triumphant smile, he knew he was lured in like a fish to bait. The love for currency was too strong by now, and the scent of green bills on his glittered hips was more than enough to have him sliding from the stage and stepping towards him.

The boxer's words were fleeting purrs in his ear, and Tavros knew the blond had experience in this realm. But he was paid to fight, not seduce, and the troll had the upperhand as he trailed fingers against his strong jawline. Onlookers were surprised at how long they flirted before disappearing backstage and up the metal stairs. The hallway was long, mostly dark besides the few lights above them that illuminated the scarlet walls and barely the floor.

"You ever done this before?" His voice was deep and rumbling, like a growl during a match.

Tavros shrugged. "Confidential information." A pair of strippers walked past them in the opposite direction, giggling and winking to the male in heels.

"Huh." They stopped in front of a door that was marked 'Cinnamon' with a shimmering sign, and the boxer snorted, amused.

"Cinnamon, eh?"

"Is that not a good enough name for you, or something?"

"It's cute, a little juvenile, but hey, I'm game. It fits you."

"Right."

"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Dave, and you're my number one hooker."

Whether or not that was a compliment did not matter when Tavros was sucking the cherry flavored lube from him, or when he was clutching the sheets as he pounded inside. It never mattered.

All that concerned him was that he was special in those escaping moments, that Dave thought not of boxing, but of him. Sure, it was selfish, and Tavros was severely breaking the number one stripper and prostitute rule that you never fall in love with regulars.

He could not help it.

If he had done it once, he could easily do it again.


	2. Thong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely, Dave realizes his feelings and attempts to stop them by avoiding his favorite strip joint.

 

He did not care what anyone said, one could never _not_ be turned on by a short troll with a black thong and pure greed in his eyes.

He had visited so often that he memorized his outfits, knew his routines and even had a special way of waving him over. Three hundreds. Every single time. No matter what, he was lured over and their fucking began swiftly once upstairs.

He was always classy when he went in, dressed to the nines like he was not in some filthy strip in front, sex in back joint. Black suit, red tie, shades expertly placed on his features as if the troll had never peered at his eyes so many times before.

The familiar clack of stilettos entered his thoughts when boxing, those plump, soft lips parting in a gasp filled his vision when training, and even in the safety of his home, he could smell cinnamon in his nostrils, even if both the stripper and spice were no where in sight. He was so far gone in a few of his fantasies after training that he was yearning for that smaller body to press to his. He ignored friends' calls or texts in favor of his imagination.

Dave had nearly lost a fight due to his daydreams, but he managed to straggle and win. Losing was rare for him, and he was not about to let some common whore dictate his victories and losses.

He winced when he thought 'common whore' and had no idea why.

He skipped the strip club that night in favor of his home, which was odd, as he usually visited after a victory. Bloody, bruised, and more importantly, horny.

Instead, he opted for prowling the late-night programming on his television, then fell asleep on the couch. It was uneventful, as Dave had no clue what he was hoping for as a result, and lounged around his apartment the following day.

Tavros was off, however, and was troubled by the lack of three hundred dollars plus another hundred in a tip in his stack of money. He counted the bills on the coffee table at home, sorted them like solitaire and wrapped them in rubber bands. He was short his four hundreds, and it seemed he was more bothered by the missing money, rather than the missing man.

That night, he laid in his recuperacoon and wondered just how long he was going to keep this up.

Days passed, and it was a cold night in February. Cliched purrs of 'I'll warm you up~' emitted from the closed doors in the upstairs hallway, and a prostitute sat on the bottom, metal step. The boxer had not appeared in nearly a month, and Tavros vaguely wondered if a troll finally beat him to death. It was slightly unsettling, but some members of his species were hulking beasts. It would take a flick of their wrist and a half-assed growl to snap that human twig in half.

He considered taking the night off, but once his name was called, he forced a bit more glitter on his body and walked on stage.

Any hopes of finding Dave were swiftly cut short when the three bills were absent. So much for that.

Slowly but surely, he made it through the night. Extra lapdances made up for his four Benjamins, and Tavros eagerly counted his money at home.

Meanwhile, Dave prepared to look hate in the eye and casually hand over his business card.


	3. Waxing Black

Being the descendant of such an influential troll granted him perks, and that meant back stage at ISA boxing matches. The violence of it all made him giddy, how two strangers could knock each other senseless for money and fame. 

 

It was devious, downright heinous, and the motherfucking Mirthful Messiahs themselves would shake their heads and suck their teeth at the amount of blood that was not going to gorgeous paintings. 

 

He briefly considered running through the stands and jumping into the ring himself to go against the human.

 

He was known all over the place by a variety of names: Turntech, Blondy, Cherry Eyes, Carmine. Each section of the massive city had a nickname for the rookie with a winning streak, and when Gamzee caught wind that he had fought in twelve recent matches and won all of them, he had never been more ardent to punch someone's face in.

 

Not only was he graciously spilling blood for the fucking floor, but he had enough nerve to brag about it. Gamzee never heard him speak, but he could tell from the up-turn of his lips and the brightness in those eyes that his ego was inflating. How dare a human, a fleshy, fragile creature, beat down an excellent race, watch the colors swirl together in a cauldron of city-wide recognition and be joyous about it? 

 

That was an indigo-blood's place, not some lowly worm that probably slunk up from the projects. Gamzee snorted. He would be knocked down a few hundred notches, he vowed it.

 

The first time they met was in the parking lot, and Gamzee hardly formulated a plan. Plans were for those fuckers who were worried of consequences, and the Capricorn was having none of that. Oh no, tonight was impulse and the blackest shade of hate that anyone could imagine.

 

The human was unlocking his car, throwing a bag into the passenger's seat before rounding it, only to receive a curt punch. Even as an experienced fighter, the sucker punch sent him staggering back against the closed driver's door and seeing stars for a brief moment. 

 

"Yo, motherfucker."

 

"What the fuck is your-"

 

"Name's Gamzee and I hate your shitty guts."

 

"I don't even-"

 

"What's your name?"

 

It was not often that someone was punched by a troll, then asked a fairly easy question like they were politely introducing themselves. He rubbed his jaw and his bruising cheek, checking to see if he had all his teeth. "Dave Strider. You may have heard of me."

 

"Ohh, you had better believe it." His lips stretched across in a foreign smile, one that cracked his face and split his skull open, "And I got a bone to up and fuckin' pick with you."

 

A tawny hand reached for the door's handle, but long, clawed fingers quickly enveloped the wrist and yanked it away, "Ah ah motherfucking ah, human scum, I ain't done talking. 'S real rude to get your escape on when I haven't even begun to explain the loads of fun we're gonna have."

 

Even with the immediate danger, he stuck his chest out and managed to speak back, "If there's murder or rape involved in this 'fun,' then you can count me out, clown. I didn't sign up for something that'll ruin my life before it's started."

 

"Ain't none of that shit involved."

 

"Coulda fooled me."

 

"I've been watching your fights."

 

"Impressed, right?"

 

"Motherfucking disgusted, is more like it. Spilling blood like it fuckin' belongs to you, putting down my brothers like the universe up and appointed you to it. Makes me sick, makes me sick right down to my toes and to the tips of my goddamn horns."

 

"Sounds like a personal problem."

 

"Listen here, trash," Dave snorted at his anger, and figured this guy was only full of hot air. They were alone in a parking lot, and the most he had gotten was a bruised wrist and cheek; like that would even count in comparison to the thousands he endured over the years. 

 

"I ain't gonna force ya, but I wanna fuck."

 

"...What."

 

"You and me. Fuckin'. How 'bout it?"

 

"Let me repeat that. What."

 

"Clean your hearing ducts, y'deaf moron!"

 

"You come out here and spit shit at me, punch me, but you wanna fuck? Is this black flirting that I've been hearing about?"

 

"Hell yes."

 

"Damn."

 

"What're ya gonna do about it?"

 

"Give you my card." Like a child during their birthday, Gamzee eagerly snatched the card from Dave's hand when he yanked it from his back pocket. Sure enough, he had business cards, pristine and pressed for the upperclass entrepreneurs that sought him out.

 

While he was distracted, Dave slid into his car as swiftly as he could and locked the door. The keys were slammed into ignition, and Gamzee banged on the window with a closed fist, only to have him drive off. 

 

Seeing that he was clearly gone, Gamzee looked down at the card. Perhaps he would use this.


	4. Mi Bello Pecado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a tad bit of Spanish in this chapter, so if any of it's wrong, please tell me.

His job was so easy.

All he did was slide up and down a pole, then collect money for it. Send a few sultry looks, glide his mouth over someone's throat and thrust his hips, and suddenly, he was getting paid.

It was exhausting at times, but never quite as exhausting as his own emotional being.

He often cried during breaks, cuddled longingly after sex with a stranger, even begged them to just do him like they meant it. They never understood, and he felt emptier and emptier.

It was a pretty miserable experience, he mused, but it made money and that was all he cared about. He did not care about Dave, as he never showed up and could not fill him up, both literally and figuratively.

March ended without any boxing men, and Tavros had long since given up.

April 1st was pleasantly warm, and Tavros was stretching in his room, back to the door. Knuckles rapped against it, and assuming it was one of his kind, he called that it was open and slid on a crimson g-string.

A purr, "My favorite."

Tavros whipped around, bloodpusher in his throat as he stared across the room. Dave was dressed elegantly, as usual, and he shut the door behind him, spine pressed to it. "You gettin' ready for me, mi bello pecado?"

The stripper frowned at the Spanish, ignoring it for now. It had to have been a joke; It was April Fool's Day, anyway. His Spanish was correct, but he definitely did not want to give that smug asshole the satisfaction. "Where have you been?"

Faltering from the venom in his voice, he held his hands up in defense, "Don't get all 'cheated-on wife' on me, Cinnamon. I've been busy."

"With? I'm, short another four hundred every time you stay away."

"Ouch. You want money more than me?"

"Isn't money all, you're good for?"

"My heart is wounded, Canela."

"Did you spend, the last two months learning Spanish?"

"If I say yes, will you blow me like you're so good at?"

"Show me the money first, and, I'll see what I can do."

Tavros never got a straight answer that night, not that he expected one. It was business as usual; his moans were calculated, every beg Dave ordered was played up perfectly and he avoided leaving large hickeys on his neck, even if he wanted to. Dave paid him for two weeks in advance, as well as something extra on the side. "Buy yourself a pretty dress, mi pequeño colibrí."

Later, the troll sat in his lap, head tucked comfortably beneath his chin as he counted his money, paper sliding through his fingers. Dave said nothing, just held him in all his sticky, genetic-material covered glory.

Once every bill had been counted for and Tavros memorized the amount, he placed the stack in the nightstand drawer. They were silent for a few minutes, Dave busy with gingerly wiping his thighs and stomach with tissues provided on the nightstand. He tossed them into the trash bin, and resumed his embrace.

"Is something, uh. Bothering you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"We've never cuddled before."

"So? Don't you remember what I told you the first time we fucked?"

"You told me plenty of things, some of which was, absolutely filthy."

"Don't be a smartass, what did I tell you that wasn't complete dirty talk?"

"You said I was, your number one hooker."

"And you are."

Dave could not sense his discomfort, and he moved around him to jerk his clothes back on. Tie securely in place, he murmured a farewell and was out the door.

The bullhorned troll departed seventeen minutes after him, and noticed another standing on the sidewalk, hands shoved into his pockets. Recognizing the facepaint with a shiver, he hurried down the street and kept his eyes low.

Gamzee cracked a grin.


	5. Scent

"Where were you? I ain't one to stick to being punctual, but you being an hour late for our hate-date isn't like you."

" 'S nothin'. Just wanted to check out that motherfuckin' strip joint you're always raving about."

"Do I need to punch some sense into you? I'm good at that, y'know."

"What is your problem? I showed up, didn't I?"

"Yeah, yeah, save it for the crowd that gives two shits, 'cause my stock is pretty fucking empty."

Gamzee shuffled awkwardly by the door. Something was bothering Dave outside of his late visiting, and while that mildly appeased him, a possessive streak ran through him. How dare someone else annoy him when that was his own job? Besides, it was a measly hour. It was not as if they did not have plenty of time.

"And by the way, stop callin' our meetups motherfucking dates. That's too damn red."

Dave rolled his eyes from behind those irritating shades, and Gamzee stalked towards him. The boxer did not show any vulnerability, even gave a lopsided grin as he took a step forward. Dave grabbed his hand, letting out a one-syllable, triumphant laugh when he was able to pull him into his bedroom. Gamzee claimed that he allowed him to.

By now, everything was screaming at the troll to wring his scrawny neck, to push him down on the floor and claw him to pieces. 

He succeeded with the last item, though only partially, as it seemed another troll had already raked their nails into his skin. They were battle scars, according to Dave, which was open to interpretation. His shirt had been thrown somewhere, and thin, grey fingers slid across the wounds. There were a few scattered ones along his chest, and he narrowed his eyes, ordering him to turn. Dave resisted a smart remark, obeyed and sat with his back to him. 

Gamzee shifted on the bed, his gaze tracing the long marks littering his back. He knew that he had not given Dave these lines, and whoever the fuck did must have had a good time wounding him.

"...What the motherfuck is this?"

"They're nail marks, so what?"

"You fucked someone? When?"

"Earlier. Three hours, sixteen minutes, and eight seconds ago."

Gamzee snorted at the male's uncanny ability to always have the answers to any inquiries relating to time. However, now was not the time to be impressed, and he transformed his expression into something more serious. "You fucked 'em in which quadrant?"

"Humans don't have quadrants."

"You got quadrants with me, Strider, now answer the motherfucking question."

"I didn't have sex with anyone in any quadrants. It was a pail n' bail." 

"So it was a troll, then?"

Without warning, Gamzee pressed his nose against his skin, taking in a deep breath. Dave squirmed, moving away from him before he could perform anything worse. "What are you doing?"

"Catchin' the little shit's scent."

"I showered, dumbass, his scent isn't gonna be there."

"On the goddamn contrary, I caught it. His scent is swirlin' 'round my nostrils and having a party in my sinuses. I got 'im. Don't you worry none, 'cause I got 'im." 

Dave had not yet turned fully to face him, and a sickening feeling burrowed deep in his stomach. If Gamzee tried hanging out at the strip joint, there was a possibility of him finding Tavros; a lowblood stripper that no one would miss if he got killed. Whether it would resort to that or not was still up in the air, but Dave wasn't taking that chance, not now. "His scent, huh?" He feigned nonchalance, and Gamzee couldn't tell the difference. "What's he smell like? Alcohol and dirty money?"

"Cinnamon."

His blood ran cold. "What?"

"Cinnamon, motherfucker, cinnamon. Whoever you stuck your dick in smells like cinnamon."

"Huh. Never noticed."

"You sure as hell did. Now cut the cocky shit and kiss me."

That night was particularly rough, as Gamzee made a point to scratch over the marks himself. Dave bled, and they had to stop twice to hastily cover the wounds in Hello Kitty bandaids to avoid staining his bed before returning to their hate-sex. Sweet, vicious hate-sex. Gamzee had his reason, but Dave wasn't so sure what his reason was for anymore.

Was it because Gamzee was wild and he couldn't get that same insanity from Tavros? 

He had to admit, sex with Tavros was special. Even on the nights that it was particularly kinky, there was a certain sincerity, at least from Dave, that made him leave with butterflies in his stomach, anticipation for the next time. 

Tavros' butterflies were for the next stack of money.


	6. Business

 

Gamzee spent as much time as he possibly could at the strip club.

 

Usually, he memorized Dave's schedule, mostly to know what times were good to show up and fuck. He liked to knock on the door with two knuckles, twirl handcuffs in the index finger of his free hand and watch the smirk slide onto his face. It was so sickening, how much he loved it, but addictions were too difficult to stop when they felt so good. 

 

But on the nights that Dave was not there, the nights when he wished to relax at home or spend some evenings with his friends, Gamzee made the most of his visits at the club.

 

On the outside, it looked like any ordinary interspecies strip joint. Flashing lights, deafening music, beautiful, slutty strippers and the drunk dude always copping feels and getting thrown out while the night was still young. 

 

Gamzee had seen it all before; that is, until a troll stripper stepped on stage a night in June.

 

Dave had complained of a headache, and even with Gamzee's protests, he couldn't force him into any kismesisstude fucking. He opted for the strip club to alleviate his disappointment.

 

When his violet eyes caught on that tight black thong, those fishnets and the bowtie around his neck, he had never felt a greater surge of unadulterated arousal. 

 

It was not mating season just yet but he was close to panting like a tired barkbeast. The way he twirled on that pole was mesmerizing, those skinny heels shining in the shaking light. Gamzee nearly drooled when he strode to the front of the stage.

 

The troll was intoxicatingly gorgeous. He wasn't a 'Dave beautiful'; fleshy but strong to the point that he was sexually attractive. Crimson eyes and a muscular frame had nothing on this slender piece of choice ass. 

 

The patrons around him waved money, each person fumbling in their wallets or pockets for a larger amount. He was popular by the looks of it, and Gamzee grinned, yanking two hundreds from his back pocket and waving them but the stripper hardly spared him a glance. Disappointed, he scrambled for more money. Ol' GH himself had pampered him in an allowance, to keep him out of any trouble with humans. Each state had its own, personal treaty with the trolls, and if anything was violated, the Grand Highblood could not guarantee that heads would not roll.

 

Gamzee shoved five pretty faced Benjamins into the air, and it was like the little stripper could sense the money. Turning, his chocolate eyes melted like they were left in the sun and the violetblood waved the bills to gesture him over.

 

The clicking of heels was lost in the thumping music when he stepped over, all touchy-feely and sultry talking. "Hey," He purred, thin lips pulling upwards into a smirk and Gamzee shuddered at the feeling of his fingers gliding on his neck. "That's quite a lot of, uh, money there, hm? Are you a highblood?" 

 

In the crazy lighting, it was impossible to tell someone's blood just by looking. Eagerly, Gamzee nodded, leaning down to fix the height variation, "Fuck yes. And you had better motherfucking believe that I'd spend every stupid human penny to tap that ass." 

 

"Well," The stripper tugged on his collar, tilting his head in the direction of the backstage door as glitter sparkled on his neck and chest, "You'll get to." 

 

The walk up the stairs felt like he was stepping on clouds, his larger hand engulfing the one on the other troll. The lack of people made it easier to take in his surroundings, and his ears rang a bit from the loud music. It merely thudded now, bass making walls vibrate.

 

They stopped in front of a door that Gamzee never read the name of, and once inside, he took a good sniff of the room.

 

He paused and looked down at him, who was busy trailing his smaller hands over a broader gray chest. "Mmn? Something wrong?"

 

Gamzee cracked a lopsided grin and flicked a claw over the hem of his thong, "Nah, baby, let's just get down to motherfucking business, alright?" 

 

A cigarrette was lit, and Tavros counted his money. The highblood offered a drag to him, but he politely declined and moved to place the bills into the nightstand drawer. Same routine, different person. 

 

Gamzee pinched the edge of his cigarrette once finished, the smoke rising from his nostrils. They sat in silence, Tavros wiping their shared genetic material from his thighs, making sure that there were not any stains on the bed and checking for anything out of place. 

 

"No tip?"

 

"My bulge ain't tip enough?"

 

"Don't be sly with me, I did good work tonight. I treated you, uh, like you were a regular."

 

"Yeah, I guess that deserves a motherfucking tip."

 

He passed off a twenty with a shrug of his shoulders, stating that it was all he had left. Tavros gently slipped the money away and assured him that he'd be cheaper next time. 


	7. Scented Sloppy Seconds

A few months passed, summer soon faded into early fall. 

Gamzee and Dave's kismesisstude was healthier than ever. At least, that's what Dave had assumed.

They knew each other's bodies like the back of their hands, and they never questioned any bite marks, scratches, or glitter flashing on the other's skin.

Dave thought that this was fine. It wasn't as if they were snooping around; it was an unspoken privilege that they could do whatever they pleased outside of their kismesisstude. They did not hate who they were with, it did not count.

The longer he tried to convince himself they were okay, the more time he spent at the strip club.

Tavros was always so comforting. There were days when they wouldn't even fuck, they'd just sit and curl up on the bed, talk endlessly into the early hours of the morning. Tavros didn't mind; he was still getting paid for it.

His claws would gently rake through Dave's hair, and he'd kiss his temple and cheek, purring so delightfully and holding Dave close to his warm body. The human instinctively pressed against him and mumbled the events of the last few days. Some good, like winning a match and some bad, like pissing Gamzee off.

Tavros had the perfect reaction for everything. Armed with tender smiles and cuddles galore, Dave found it easy to confide in him. Despite it not being the norm, the boxer could simply spill his feelings and break down, and Tavros would eagerly place the pieces back together, get him in working order once more to face the highblooded beast. 

It was all so pale, how Dave rambled to him. How they snuggled on the bed and stared at the ceiling fan. How Dave gently kissed his neck, then both cheeks, his forehead and finally his lips before leaving. Or maybe that was red?

Tavros faked a smile when he left the last night in October. He wouldn't see him again till December, and he would constantly reprimand himself for leaving on such a sour note.

Money just wasn't as tantalizing as it used to be.

He remembered the days when he'd feel such a rush at handling bill after bill, feeling the paper glide against his thong and the fingertips that pressed to his skin, eager to pay more for looks of him. People were so utterly disgusting, and Tavros was no exception.

He was soon raking in thousands of dollars a week, enough to support a nicer apartment, pay off any expenses with ease, and his life was so good, material-wise. Anything he wanted, Tavros could get. And if he couldn't at the moment, he'd just have to pucker his lips and suck a bit harder for an extra tip. 

He really was repulsive.

There were nights when he laid at home and told himself how degrading his job was, how completely revolting his acts were, how he should have not a single ounce of happiness when he was paid. Briefly, he considered quitting just to stop the self-hate.

He didn't.

It was the only way he could see Dave on a regular basis, the only way he could still get pounded into the bed by Gamzee. It was selfish, using his job for his own personal gain. Was that how it worked? He could never tell. All the color of the world just seeped into the ground and was replaced by dull black and white. Everything was simply the same.

For the human and troll, it was not.

The increased visits to the infamous strip club was driving a wedge into their relationship. It was beginning to not only affect simple jeers pre-coitus, but the insults afterwards.

Gamzee laid in bed, white sheets settled around his long legs as he took a deep drag from a cigarette. The bluish smoke curled around him as he breathed out, swirling into the shared air of Dave. 

"Mn. You don't feel like you used to."

Dave quirked a brow, silently urging him to continue.

"Nahh." Gamzee shook his head, "Cinnamon does a lot better 'n you."

His blood felt like stabbing ice in his veins, and he chuckled quietly, bitterly. "Yeah. He's good at that, huh?" Dave rubbed his hands together, attempting to stop a surge of anger than burned the frost in his insides. "He's better at suckin' dick, though."

Gamzee stopped, then crushed the cigarette in the ash tray, " 'The fuck did you just say?"

"You've got my sloppy seconds." 

" 'The hell with that noise."

"You know for a fact that you came to him after me. Remember that sniffing test? You got the cinnamon scent, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, cut your goddamn gloating. He told me all about your motherfucking absence earlier in the year, how he only up 'nd likes you for the money."

"Isn't it the same with you?"

"No, we got something up and motherfucking special, like all the miracles in the universe were just bottled up between us."

"...Yeah, I used to think the same about me an' him."

"What?"

"Nothing, jackass. Nothing."


	8. Overestimation

He was slacking.

Overestimating the kindness of strangers proved to be a nearly fatal mistake; all his time with Dave recently had skewed his precautions.

"Y'know.." Dave whispered, fingers tangling in the dark locks of Tavros' hair, "I could take real good care 'a you." 

"Mn.." A curt nod, "As if I haven't heard that before."

"I mean it. Someone like you, working in a place like this.."

"Fitting, isn't it?"

"Fuck no."

These conversations occured so often that Tavros almost believed him. He almost believed that he was worthy of a normal life, almost believed that he deserved a true relationship. But he was a failure and lost it all, and this cruel life was his punishment. How gloriously gorgeous it all used to be. 

The space between them grew. Gamzee found solace in Tavros, Tavros in Dave. The brownblood screamed to himself that it was wrong to drown his own sorrows in the human's kisses, then muster up smiles and calculated sex with another troll. 

At home, he lamented. He would cry for hours out of hate for himself, at his situation, that the two men that meant the most to him hadn't the slightest idea what he was truly doing. Finally, Tavros had enough of the sexual lifestyle. He longed for a relationship that delved in delicate touches and gentle kisses.

A man came in that night, as per usual. A hairy human with large hands and a broad pair of shoulders, muscles defined and taut beneath his thin, olive coloured skin. Tavros had to admit, he was handsome, and he felt almost excited to offer himself to the man. 

He was pompous, detailing his last win against a blond boxer. All smiles and sensual purrs, the troll begged for more and more, but his ears were trained on the tidbits of information he leaked. 

After a sloppy fuck, the man laid in bed beside Tavros, arms folded beneath his head. "He was a tough one, alright," He grumbled, observing the young prostitute count stacks of money as if they were cards, nimble fingers sorting the bills with ease. "But he isn't as tough as everyone makes him out to be. If ya ask me, Strider's slipping nowadays." 

"Hmn."

"Have you ever seen him fight?"

A smooth lie, "Never."

"He fights like he's thinking about something or someone else."

Tavros bit the inside of his mouth, eyes focused purely on the money they he kept together with a peach-colored rubber band. "Is that so?"

Gamzee was none too pleased.

Tavros' poor situation seemed to fuel Dave's sadness; he was less thrilled for biting remarks and sarcasm, his usual enthusiasm for ironic gifts was mediocre at best and slaps to the ass were slim to none. Despite his strong red feelings in regards to Tavros, the indigoblood was furious at the fact that his black quadrant was slacking.

The Strider could not be bothered to improve. 

Here he was, sitting pretty with all the money and fame he could ask for. Men and women, trolls and humans, they loved him, adored him. The media stalked his every move, eager to know what he was doing at any given moment, and his younger fans idolized him and asked for autographs. His life should have been perfect, should have been flawless, but the missing piece was Cinnamon, and he could not bring himself to be whole or happy without him.

His record declined in the ring, and his health followed suit. A mild form of depression settled upon him, and while Dave struggled to be his normal, smirking, quick-witted self, another young man was struggling to keep up with his moirail's outlandish spending.

With his kismesis caught in a personal funk, Gamzee took it upon himself not only to visit Tavros, -and leave cruel marks on his neck for all to see- but to gamble. From traditional troll games to poker and blackjack, Gamzee was utterly addicted to the thrill of winning. Karkat wished he could sit idly by, but this was not the case.

"Moron," He growled, eyes following Gamzee's lanky form on the couch. "How much did you lose last night?"

He laughed heartily, "Man, I dunno. One second I'm rollin' my hips real slow-like in Tav. God, he's always so-"

"Please," He held up a hand, "Spare me the details of your, ugh. 'Expeditions' and tell me how much you lost, you idiotic buffoon."

"Like...two thousand? Maybe?"

Disappointment was evident in his voice as he sat on the arm of the couch, Karkat's pointed ears listening to Gamzee attempt to give excuses and justifications for his massive gambling. "Your mentor isn't going to be so laidback when he finds out."

Gamzee laughed once more, "Motherfucker, there ain't no finding out 'bout shit."


	9. Astray

He did it. He finally fucking did it. 

No one had known a single thing, had any indication that he was leaving it all that night. After his work hours, once he returned home, everything crashed down around him. His thinkpan scoured for any logical, cold, calculated reason, and all he could think of was that love and hate made him do it.

Love for Dave, love for Gamzee, love for a better future.

Hate for himself, hate for his former occupation, hate that he spent so much time in a false sense of happiness while he was truly declining at a rapid rate.

Debilitating as it was to rip himself from a lifestyle he had grown so accustomed to, he felt a swelling amount of freedom burst in his bloodpusher at no longer being Cinnamon, but Tavros Nitram. He was not a purring, self-loathing prostitute who eagerly spread his legs at the scent of money, or arched his back at being called pet names in the middle of revolting sex. Never will he rely on ephemeral moments to feel whole, as if he was a complete troll once again. 

He stood on the balcony of his high-rise apartment, shirtless and clad only in a pair of loose sweatpants. For once, his bare chest was not smothered in glitter and cologne, but bathed in his own, personal scent. His phone rang and he barely registered it, his eyes glued to the warm comfort of the human sun. It was like a full embrace from an omnipresent source, an invisible pat on the back that he did the right thing. His phone rang once more, and reluctantly, he headed inside to locate it. 

Two missed calls from Gamzee, and he answered when it rang again in his hand.

"Hello?"

"Hey," He cooed, "Baby, where are you?"

He paused, "Why do you need, to see me? Work hasn't started yet." Not that he had any intentions of working in that sleazy building ever again.

"I wanted t'see you before then. Gotta ask ya somethin'."

"Just ask me now."

"It won't motherfuckin' be the same if I start croonin' inquiries all full to the brim with these stunning emotions and shit through a receiver and out through a speaker, man."

"..What?"

"Tell me where ya are."

"At home."

There was a long groan on the other side, "Don't be a smartass, Cinnamon." Tavros pursed his lips at the familiar insult, but listened anyway before coming to a startling conclusion. The deeper voice continued, "I have to-"

"You don't even know my real name," He snapped, and he stopped abruptly in the middle of his next sentence when he heard Gamzee chuckle lowly on the other line. "Tavros. It's Tavros. Sweetest name I ever did have the honor of lettin' up and roll off my unworthy tongue."

Feeling his cheeks flush, he ended the call immediately and threw his phone against his couch. It rang three times before Gamzee finally gave up on contacting his favorite prostitute. His moirail, as usual, was displeased with his recent actions. Gambling, having sex with whores, and possibly other, if minor, depraved, immoral items. 

"He's mad at me." Lips pressed in a tight line, he stared down at the floor, his forearms braced on his knees. "I know his motherfuckin' name and he went full blown rage mode at me, Karkat."

Pointed ears flicked up, Karkat moved to sit beside him and squish his smaller body in the obnoxiously violet armchair, "Justifiably so." He began, careful not to blurt the wrong thing and have his moirail a blubbering mess, or even worse, an angered ball of energy. "It seems that whenever you call me over, it always starts with you conjuring up justifications like a fucking Lie Wizard and always ends with me saying 'you're dumb, as usual, simpleton.' I'll just go ahead and knock out the unpleasant farewell now: You're dumb, as usual, simpleton."

Casting him a gloomy smile, Gamzee softly questioned why a beautiful, sweet, understanding troll like Tavros would become so aggravated at him knowing his name, or even beforehand, for wishing to see him. Snorting in disbelief, Karkat leaned back against the chair. "For one thing, if he is not telling you his exact location, he probably doesn't want you to see him."

Nodding slowly, he gestured for him to continue. "And well..if a drawling, drooling, high-off-his-ass highblood started spewing that he knew my name and began singing it like he was the fucking winner of that horrid human singing show with the equally nauseating judges- ugh, isn't one of them some guy who continuously refers to everyone as 'dog?' Since when has any human been a barkbeast? Honestly. The garbage these humans wa-"

"Karkat, we're, uh. You know. Talkin' 'bout Tav."

"..Right. Anyway, if I had only fucked you for money and you had my number, then called me to know where I was located and knew my name, then I'd either be scared or pissed that you know. Or a mixture of both, most likely. Which I can guarantee your little stripper is feeling right now. Besides, the only way to contact him would be through some shady way, since I don't recall you telling me about getting his number in an easy, normal -key word here being normal- way." He gave a flick of his wrist, "But I digress. Congratulations on scaring away your only potential matesprit."

Brightening, Gamzee leaned in close, a long arm thrown around the shoulders of his companion, "You think we have a chance at being matesprits?"

"Barely." He hissed, shoving the other male from the chair and to the floor. Despite Gamzee being bigger, he was skinnier and it took hardly any effort to move him forcefully. In a heap on the carpet, he sent up a smile and thrust himself into a standing position, "Yer a fuckin' genius when it comes to romance, so I believe ya. Even if it is only a sliver of a chance, I'll take it. Besides," He beamed down at the seated troll, "You were right about me 'nd Dave." 

Mouth tugged down, both men wore a similar expression. Karkat cleared his throat, "You look mad."

"That sack of shit, I'll kill him," Immediately, he was pacing, large feet producing hard thumps against the floor as his hands flexed by his sides. "I should've known! Tavros is with Dave, that's why he doesn't wanna motherfuckin' see me!"

Karkat crossed his arms over his chest, carmine-hued eyes turned slender in leeriness, "I wouldn't jump to incompetent conclusions like that." 

Regardless, his stomach coiled in cold apprehension.


	10. Amber Irises and Sanguine Roses

A shuffle of feet. A hard smash against an elevator button. Small trembles in the hands holding irises and roses. 

The famous boxer said he was on leave due to an injury, and his manager backed him up after hissed threats that he would be fired if he did not. Rubbing his jaw, he checked his appearance in the reflective metal of the elevator walls, smoothing his hair down to keep flyaways in check and adjusting his shades to be just below his eyebrows. Cliche music was too slow to quell the rapid pace of his jabbing heart.

Heavy doors slid open, a ding sounding and he stepped out. The hallway, just as the elevator, was empty. Dave swallowed, licking his dry lips and giving himself a once-over. Appearance, normally, was not a problem for him, but today was especially important.

Counting the doors as he stepped down the hallway, he came to the fourth on the right. Delivering solid knocks with his knuckles, he removed his hand the moment he heard footsteps.   
'Be casual,' He reminded himself, 'Smile when he opens the door.'

He had not been expecting anyone, and his bloodpusher sped when he heard knocks. Assuming it was Gamzee, he was cautious in opening the pathway connecting the two of them; indigobloods were notorious for instability, and the last thing he wanted was to be thrust onto the evening news.

"G-Gamzee," A stammer was all Tavros could muster as he opened the door, "Don't-"

"Gamzee?" Smile, just remember to smile, don't forget how to fucking breathe- "Sorry. It's just me this time, mi bello pecado." 

For a fraction of a second, Tavros felt relief wash over him, but he is thrown into confusion and partial anger immediately after. "How do you know where I am?"

The smile only grew, "Yeah, this is creepy as shit, but hacking is a beautiful thing when you can hire someone for it. Just fiddled with that phone number of yours and found you, but I gotta admit, you're about as elusive as a running Waldo." The confused stare had him continuing without missing a beat, nervousness scrambling for the surface, "Anyways," Dave forced his tone to be nonchalant, as if he was merely passing the apartment complex in a suit and tie with flowers in hand on his way to another match, "I got these for you. 'M hopin' you don't do anything weird like eat them or something."

Unnerved, Tavros stepped back from the offer of flowers, hand reaching out to slam the door. Thinking quick, his flatterer placed a foot into the apartment, shoulderblade against the doorframe. "Wait, Tav, I just-" He released a sigh through his nose, "I just want to start over." 

Narrowing his eyes, Tavros allowed him to step inside, then closed the door behind him. Back pressed to it, he reluctantly took the flowers and searched for a vase.

"This wasn't some impulsive thing," He explained, reaching to shuffle a hand through his carefully combed hair before deciding against it and shoving the end of the limb into his pocket. "I scoured reliable sources to see what flowers mean and everything. Irises mean rebirth, roses mean love. And look at that, they're brown and red." 

Retreating into his apartment, he filled the vase with water from the sink. Tavros placed the flower stems tenderly inside, his tiny nose twitching to sniff the petals, as if too preoccupied to answer. Truthfully, he was having difficulty even forming coherent sentences to reply with. Dave stood off to the side, lingering half in the kitchen area and half not. Tavros cast him a sidelong glance, pushing back the cold water and setting the vase to the side. He cleared his throat, "Rebirth of..of what, exactly?"

"Of us," Dave replied breathlessly, long strides propelling him towards the smaller male, intrusive and desperate and loving, "I don't want to fall in love with Cinnamon, I want to fall in love with Tavros and kiss Tavros and hold Tavros and-" He stared down at the floor, ashamed, stepping back and forcing himself to remain calm, "I want a rebirth of the feelings I have for you. Cinnamon isn't who you really are, and I'll be damned if I have to keep holding onto that extension of you when I can have all of you.."

Cheeks darkened, the troll shifted his weight, reviewing the scarce amount of options in his head. He was uneasy due to his explosion at Gamzee, and he thought that it would only be his luck to have both men in the same apartment. He thought to shoo away Dave in all his confessing, to throw the flowers away. But the man he met months ago and the man he met now were radically different, just as rough around the edges, and with varied intent.

His phone hummed in vibrations off someplace in the apartment, muffled from underneath a pillow on the couch. Both ignored it for now, but Tavros felt cold creep along his spine. 

Shoulders slouched, Dave whispered, fingers aching in want to touch him, to provide comfort in clumsy, genuine ways, "God, Tavros. Say something."

Eyes filling with tears, his face stung and he clenched his fists until his claws pricked his palms, "I love you b-but I cannot have you, Dave." He spoke softly, removing himself from his stance by the counter and moving to slide around him, but he was stopped by a barricade of embracing. Stronger arms engulfed him in a heated hug, the tears that had clouded his gaze were absorbed by the fabrics of an expensive suit. 

Warmth radiated from hands rubbing up and down his back, bumping along the ridges of his vertebrae, one hand coming to rest on the nape of his grey neck. 

"You can always have me," Dave promised, crushing Tavros to his own body, "Nothing will prevent me from being with you." 

He choked a bitter laugh, "What about Gamzee?"

"I can handle him."

"I can't. I'm flushed for him, too." 

He breathed in through his nose, "..We'll deal with him when we have to."


	11. Punishment

  
Karkat had warned him, and he assumed that this was only suitable.

 _You'll get caught,_ He had said, _He'll find you._

Gamzee had thought he was invincible, unable to be defeated, a soaring champion of his own kind that could tackle any problem and any gambling game.

"Move along, scum."

His brothers and sisters betrayed him, the indigoblooded kinsmen had all turned their backs when the patriarch caught wind of his protege's recent offenses. No one held out a helping hand when their own sibling was convicted and put on trial. Now he was faced with his Achilles Heel, the only thing standing between him and immortal liberty was a hulking troll with identical blood and a sinister grin.

Gamzee frowned deeply at the lengthy rows housing excited brethren, each and every individual meshing together into a mass of howling, ridiculing trolls. Their horns hit each other in terrifying clangs, hisses and growls and snarls mixed with laughs and honks illuminated the room, which was heavy with dim lights. Paintings produced from blood stood like menacing soldiers on canvases behind them, blocking the windows that were formerly in the assembly room. At the head of the long rectangular hall was his leader, his master, his lord, in all his horrific glory.

The troll woman in front of him pulled the ropes holding his hands together and he lurched forward. She was dressed in all black, as was customary of this celebration of impending malevolence. The rope burned his wrists, but he assumed that was more of the purpose than securing the victim. If he even thought about escaping, his hyena-like cousins would thrash from the stands and kill him in a barrage of gleeful bloodlust.

Looming before him was his father, his captain, his commander. The look he harbored was solemn, unnaturally tranquil, his eyes a swimming violet cauldron of omniscient punishment and shooting trepidation.

Gamzee, head hung low, refused to meet the shaking gaze as his own hands trembled. An unadulterated quiver of fright raked down his body, a flood of the stench of blood burning his nostrils. No one was injured, but he felt as though a thousand wounds had been inflicted to his person and his own blood was oozing into agonized puddles on the floor. He knew he was guilty, but the real predicament was how to weasel his way into a position that put him into innocence.

"Gamzee," The rumble of his tyrannical tycoon's voice was oddly comforting, a sharp contrast to his eyes that soon began to flare with a knowing fire. "Long time no motherfucking see, student. 'The fuck you've been doing all these days and nights?"

The rope around his wrists jerked him forward again roughly, the violet eyes of the older troll beside him glancing to him momentarily before falling to the feet of her leader, "He ain't been doin' as he's up and s'pposed to!" She screeched to the floor, and the trolls surrounding them hollered in agreement, "Runnin' 'round with a fuckin' prostitute of the lowest levels, and engagin' his black quadrant with a human. A human."

"Fuck you!" He retorted, snapping up his head and lifting his bound wrists above himself to pull away from her. "Ain't I allowed t'give my own motherfucking account of things? You weren't even there to-"

"You're the one makin' indigobloods look foolish!"

"CHILDREN." Chuckling darkly, he threw his head back, the ice picks he called canines gleaming from saliva in the wispy light occupying the air. Both the troll woman and Gamzee tensed and shut their mouths before she slunk off to the stands, realizing that she was unneeded for the moment. "Children, children! Rejoice. The crazier we look to everyone, the crazier we can act 'nd the more crazy shit we can get away with, sans-human interference. But," And his voice grew low, and the incessant whitenoise of the abundance of indigobloods diminished in a millisecond. "Gamzee Makara, you got some motherfuckin' 'splainin' to do."

Rebelliously, he raised his head, defiantly meeting the smoldering gaze. Despite the fear wrenching his stomach and threatening to stop his heart, Gamzee felt he had to make a point. He was the next in line to rule over all the treacherous traitors that were formerly screaming, and he would be damned if his status would be overlooked because of a few crimes he had committed. "Where 'm I supposed to start?"

"Wherever the fuck you think you should start." He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees as his eyes narrowed from a grin that nearly split his skull clean in two. "WE'VE GOT ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING TIME in the world."

Rolling his shoulders, Gamzee pursed his lips and looked around himself. Every single pair of eyes was glued to him, cemented to his breaths and blinks. His gaze fell upon the Grand Highblood, who was seated on an ebony throne behind a metal framework. A physical barrier, a boulder of strictly enforced hierarchy. No man's land lie beyond it and the consequence of defiling the sacred had never been distributed.

"I met my current kismesis at an ISA boxin' match," He started, straightening his spine as he gave the briefest summary he could conjure, "He fucked a stripper that doubles as a prostitute. I found the lil' fucker 'nd 'm flushed for 'im. In between red fuckin' and black fuckin' I gamble with the money you give every month."

The silence struck Gamzee on his back like an oppressive hammer, those previously smoldering eyes dimming down. He thought, if only for a fleeting second, that he was safe, but the screaming of anger began the second he did.

 "GAMZEE MAKARA." The mentioned troll nearly leapt from his skin, panicking that he was to die that very instance, that the mighty fist belonging to his sovereign would smash his head like a purple grape, splattering his brain onto the concrete floor and he would laugh at the thoughts that would float and settle into the strangling air. "I looked past yer mutant moirail. I didn't do shit when you 'nd that tealblood were together fer a while. Hell, I even ignored that scrabble in the bar a couple months ago. Remember that fuckery, Gamz? ALMOST COST YOU YOUR LIFE, didn't it?"

Obediently, Gamzee nodded, then winced at the firm whispering.

"You're stayin' here fer a while. Gotta learn yer fuckin' roots, y'know?" He roared in laughter, "NO MOTHERFUCKIN' SOPOR, NO 'COON, JUST STRAIGHT IN THE BLOCK. Remember the block, boy?"

The first time he had seriously fucked up was a sweep ago. Sleeping around was his forte at the time, his quadrants empty and his buckets full. Pheromones were the fragrance of the nighttime and flirting was the activity of the day. The commandments of his ruling messiahs fell to second priority, a detrimental error. An eerie series of cells located in the depths of the indigoblood compound was the location of offenders caught by the Grand Highblood or his loyal followers. No one was exempt from the block, and if one were put there, they came about a changed troll.

"Yeah, I remember the fuckin' block." A mere two weeks of stringent monitoring and opaque inkiness brought upon by the lack of windows was enough to make Gamzee stay on a path of enlightenment. Lately, he found himself above the law of his many ancestors, the same fault that caused his downfall the first time.

"A month this time," He decided, "HOPEFULLY, YOU'LL LEARN THIS TIME."

Cracking a grin, the same troll woman returned to haul Gamzee to his extreme penance. Mouth dry, he kept hs head down as the animated shrieking skyrocketed around him. Bellows of excitement flooded his ears and froze his chest with laborious breaths. The trudge down the spiraling stone steps to the block had him flexing his fingers to regain feeling.

The cell door opened and the troll woman chuckled.

"Ya really fucked up this time."


	12. Gradual Fixation

Initially, Gamzee was terrified. Despite his eyes naturally being able to adjust to seemingly impenetrable darkness, he was not accustomed to it. He often lost sight of his hands or feet, and normally he sat, dejected, a melancholy sadness bearing down on his heart. It proved difficult to see when his mind wandered. His thoughts went to Tavros, how he missed his little lips and his pointed teeth and those heavy, leaden eyes. He bore so much on his thin shoulders, and continued to hold more. How Gamzee wished he could have held him closely, made him love him more than Strider, made the lowblood realize that life would be better with him.

Everything reminded Gamzee of his dear Tavros.

How the darkness was like his ebony hair, the hard stone beneath him like his rigid muscles before they relaxed underneath his touch; he even imagined his own bloodpusher beating to the tempo of Tavros'.

Shaking the chains bounding his wrists, he smashed his fists against the cold stone he was harnessed to. His mind screamed at him to get revenge on his matesprit, to find Tavros, to scoop him up and gobble him into his heart. If he couldn't have him, then no one else can.

On the third day, he spoke, angered by his withdrawal of the one he loved.

"Aren't I allowed to see a motherfucking visitor?" He jerked his head when a flashlight beamed a perfect circle on his face, "Or call somebody?"

The guard holding his plate of food snorted, throwing the tin into the open cell, "What, you think this is some kind of human prison?" Shaking his head, he walked in further and crouched in front of the heir. Pinching his cheeks, he felt Gamzee growl through his teeth after a quick shiver of shock at the sudden touching, "Look, Makara. Yer in the block fer a reason. Don't make this any harder than it's gotta be."

The guard recoiled and left after hissed threats from the prisoner, and Gamzee hung his head. He thought, perhaps fleetingly, if he focused on Tavros, then his sentence would feel quicker.

The brownblood sat on his couch, arms crossed and his mouth a line. The human in front of him quirked an eyebrow and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Don't give me that look, canela."

"You, uh, deserve it."

"I'm not looking for him."

"Yes, you are."

"You didn't want him to find you, Tavros. Now that he doesn't give a shit about where you are, you want him. He gave up."

"That's not the reasoning behind it at all!" Chocolate colored eyes smoldering, he cleared his throat curtly and looked off to the side, "He called me, nonstop, three days ago. Now I have nothing."

Dave groaned, exasperated at having to repeat himself, "Because he gave up."

He tapped his fingers against his arms, "Then tell me why he hasn't contacted you, either."

He pursed his lips, "Because he knows I'm with you and probably doesn't want to talk."

"Your kismesis doesn't want to talk? What about his moirail? He hates him, uh, too, right?"

"Tavros!" His voice was sharp, firm, raised enough to make the troll jump, "Gamzee's unpredictable, you know that. He probably just wanted time alone to get his already screwed up brain together."

Frowning, Tavros pushed himself off the couch, mumbling to himself as he gathered his sneakers. Dave, with a similar expression, tailed after him, "Where are you going?"

He resisted an instinctive hiss, "Where do you think?"

A hand engulfed his shoulder, and Tavros stopped, glancing behing himself with a scowl. Leaning down, Dave planted a kiss to his forehead, sweeping his lips over gradually til he hit his temple, then his cheek, "Baby, you don't even know where to start."

Purring quietly, he craned into the kisses, dispersing a sigh onto Dave's neck at the feeling of hands sliding down his sides and taking residence on his protruding pelvis. "That doesn't mean I can't."

"Just stay here until you have a full idea as to where to go. Don't rush out there, guns blazing and no game plan."

"I do know where to, uh, start. With people. With Karkat."

"I'm going with you then. I'll track his phone, check the places he was recently. Anything I can do, I will. Besides, I'm his hate-date, I'm sure I know somethin' about the fucker."

If he had any smiles left, he would have shone one up at Dave, but his thinkpan was rattled and his bloodpusher was racing. Nervous possibilities and potenial disasters leapt through his mind, and Tavros shakily sighed. "We'll find him, won't we?"

Dave grimaced, blunt nails and the tips of his fingers digging into his hips for a half second, a flex of paranoia, "I can't guarantee that."


	13. Formulate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot to Saiyanpelt for correcting my mistake about the "Alternian language"/Trollish issue.   
> Things should make more sense now, sorry for any confusion!

Tapping his fingers against his knee, Dave's eyes shifted between the two trolls. Originally, he hadn't been paying much attention, as his focus had laid in his beverage rather than the topic at hand. He jumped in midway, blinking twice behind his shades in confusion before things began to piece together in the conversation and Dave trickled after a huff and a short stare. 

"So where do you think he is now?"

He shrugged, "Strider, if I knew that, don't you think I would have said so?"

"We don't have time for your snide remarks, man." Exasperation crept into his voice, and he sat back against the wrought-iron chair that was warm from the afternoon sun. Tavros, seated closer to him at the round table, folded his hands neatly on the edge of it and looked to Karkat, who replaced the indifferent line adorning his lips with a frown. Dave continued on, "Either give us information or don't, but whatever you choose, know that you're partially responsible to our success."

The Nitram cleared his throat, "Or lack thereof."

With narrowed eyes, Karkat took his drink in his hand, swirling the ice around before taking a sip, "You both know that I want nothing more than to find Gamzee. Well. Find out if he's dead or not. Fucker probably got himself hitched in some kind of disaster, what with his whimsical talk." He waved it off, "If all other possibilities turn out for naught, the most likely answer is that one of his brethen caught wind of his location and snuck him off to personally schoolfeed him his history. Again. But like I said," He took another sip, "That's only if everything else, including him being dead, has been proven wrong. Doesn't seem like the higher-ups would grab him unless he seriously did something heinous."

Dave's brows furrowed, "What do you mean by all that? This has happened before?"

He scoffed, "You're fairly ignorant for being the kismesis." His gaze slid to Tavros, who ducked down his own eyes to look at the table. "Jesus, you don't know either? ..I guess it isn't something you can just sling around in casual conversation, but I'd like to think that even you would know, Nitram. Since we're so pressed for time," He shot a glower to Dave, who snorted in amusement at Karkat's attempt to be threatening as he took a gulp of the soda he ordered, "I'll give you the gist of it. If any indigoblood does something that's especially frowned upon, they're taken to their compound, -the Indigoblood Compound, unsurprisingly- to be punished as the Grand Highblood sees fit. Gamzee is no exception."

Fiddling with his fingers, Tavros asked softly if he knew where the compound was and he shook his head, "I haven't a clue. I doubt he's there anyway."

"If you ask me, we should check there first," Dave reached over, enveloping Tavros' fumbling hands with one of his own in a silent plea for him to relax, "Get the most extreme possibilities out of the way so we don't worry ourselves to death."

"But what if he is at the compound, Strider. What do you suppose you'll do then?"

"Shit, I don't know," He groaned, "Whatever it takes to get him out and for Tavros to quit giving me dirty looks whenever I say I don't wanna look for that bastard."

"I don't give you dirty looks."

"Then what d'ya call that, huh?" Dave's brows furrowed in worry, "I'm doing my best, princess. No worries and definitely no glowers."

"While your nauseating love is absolutely bloodpusher-warming, I'd like to focus on the topic of hand. That being Gamzee's rescue."

Tavros tapped his fingers against the table, "That is, if he actually, um. Needs a rescue at all. He might just be. Er. Misplaced."

"Misplaced? Don't be naive," Karkat exhaled slowly, "Makara's needed a rescue since day one."


	14. Valston

  
"God, what am I even doing with my life."

"Don't be like that, Dave."

"I'm looking for the guy that socked me one in the face the first night we met. If that ain't crazy, I don't know what is."

He furrowed his brows, "Don't you care about him?"

"I think I care about him by default." Dave slowed to a stop at a red light, fingers drumming on the black leather of his steering wheel. Tavros, seated in the passenger's seat, gazed ahead through the windshield with an exhausted flicker in his eyes. The black car in front of them zoomed through the moment green was shown, and Dave could hardly chuckle at the mutantblood's lead foot.

"I know you're worried," He began, shoulders tense as he shifted into the next lane, "Hell, even I'm worried. But you have to think logically, Tav. Think about what he's said to you these past few days, few weeks. How he's acted. Has he done anything that may have led you to suspect that he's gonna..I dunno. Fall off the face of the planet?"

"No. Our last conversation, he had asked where I was, uh, and I did not disclose that information. Umm. I think he wanted to ask me something, but I never gave him a chance."

"That could've been mighty fuckin' helpful if you'd have let him."

Tavros' eyes slid over to gaze at Dave's face, "How was I supposed to know, that he would soon go missing after our conversation?"

"I'm not saying you were _supposed_ to know," He responded, voice laced with impending irritation, "Just that it might've been useful if you let him drone on for a while."

He turned away as far as his horns would let him, arms crossed over his chest and seatbelt as his glare was propelled against the glass of the window, "I had just quit being a plaything for strangers, the night before. I didn't even have time to get myself together."

"Jesus Christ, it was just a phone call, babe, not the end of the world!" Gripping the steering wheel, he fought off the urge to merely pull over and yell his frustrations, "All you had to do was talk, chances are he was too jacked up on some under-the-table street dope to even register that it was you or what the hell you were saying."

"Maybe I didn't want to talk, Dave," Hissing, he clenched his fists and curled into himself, his knees thrust up against his chest. "Maybe I wanted, a few fleeting moments of pure joy to myself, and not have to think about you or Gamzee or my next fucking client."

He was silent for a moment, taking a right as he watched Karkat's car slow and park surprisingly neatly between two parallel white lines, then he parked beside him, "No one said you had to take that shitty job."

Jerking his seatbelt away, Tavros opened his door and stomped out, "No one said you had to be, an asshole, either."

After taking his keys from ignition, Dave shoved them into his pocket and stepped out his car. The door shut, and Tavros had already walked towards Karkat and spoken briefly to him.

"Does he even know we're coming?"

Karkat gave a one-shouldered shrug as he dug around for his phone, "What am I supposed to say to him? 'Oh, hey, me, a former stripper and a boxer are gonna come up. We need your help so try to look presentable. Yes, Sollux, that does include wearing, at the very minimum, a pair of undergarments and a shirt. See you in a sec.' "

A slim smile wormed its way onto Tavros' lips, his surge of anger dying down at Karkat's unintentional humor, "That would be a good way, uh, to start. At least call him and see if he's at home."

"Don't insult me, I think I would know my matesprit's work schedule."

"What if he's with his friends, or something?"

"Oh please," Karkat walked ahead of them briskly, "He doesn't have any friends."

Giggling, Tavros followed after him, hands clasped behind his back, "That's mean."

He brushed him off, "I never said I was nice, Nitram."

His pointed ears slowly slid down as they walked into the apartment complex, Dave uncharacteristically close to Tavros' side. The brownblood inched away from him, but he was resilient in his kisses; they were affectionate, but forced. Tavros swatted him away with a scowl and a concealed growl as Dave shrunk back from him.

"At least I know this guy's got his shit in check," Dave thrust his hands into his pockets as Karkat slammed his fingers on the third floor button in the elevator. "He's the one that tracked your phone, Tav."

"Is that so?"

"Yup. Dude's quick and efficient. Don't charge much, either."

"If he charges us anything, he's getting a swift punch to the gut."

"Are you sure that, uh, you do not feel a tad black for him?"

"Sometimes I wonder, Nitram. Sometimes I wonder."

At the third ding, the heavy silver doors opened and the trio stepped out. Dave reached for Tavros' hand, but he shifted away, his brows pulling together in questioning. He dipped down, lips by the tapered ear of the shorter male, "You're too close to Vantas. Step back a little."

He snorted in disbelief, jerking himself away, "What?"

"Calm down back there." Karkat cast them both a long glance over his shoulder before continuing on until they were roughly halfway through the hallway. Knocking curtly on the door, there was a shuffling heard. Embarrassed at being caught, Tavros took a step to the side and waited patiently for the door to open.

When it did, a slightly disheveled troll was on the other side. Tall and a bit lanky, his eyes scanned the familiar face of Karkat's, the slightly familiar one of Dave's and the totally unknown visage behind him. He spoke with a kind of sharpness, as if intending to wound, his lisp faint but present. "Who are these people?"

"Think of them as clients." Karkat took a step forward, distinctly sweet in his own talking, "Can we come in or are you working on something?"

"No, it's fine." As if comfortable, the yellowblood's speech dipped to that of something more soft, "Come in." He stepped back, revealing a wild array of wires and equipment. The room was bright with illuminated screens and flicking gadgets. A young blonde woman, seated in the middle of the commotion with a pink laptop seated on her thighs perked up, "Yo, Sol, who's-" She stopped, "Dave?"

"Oh, hey.." He raised a hand to greet her, which she returned with a bright smile, "What're you doin' here? Who's your friend?"

"One question at a time," Dave strode over to her while Tavros lingered with Karkat and Sollux by the closed door before retreating to the couch pressed against the wall. It was moved to accomodate the tornado of technology strung along the floor and against whatever vacant furniture was closest.

"I- Well. We," He gestured offhandedly to himself, Tavros and Karkat, "Are looking for someone. My kismesis and my lover's lover."

Roxy quirked a slender brow at him, "Run that by me again?"

"In short, the majestic bull seated over there is in a flushed relationship with me and an indigoblood. He's also Vantas' moirail. This indigoblood, let's call him Gamzee-"

"This ain't the same Gamzee that was busted a few months ago for a bar fight, right?"

Tavros interjected, "What bar fight?"

"It's all over the underground troll news blogs, guys, mostly theories about what exactly happened. 'Gamzee Makara,' " She recited with glee, "Was presumably taken forcefully by his brothers and sisters after a bar brawl with a blueblood.' " At the blank or otherwise shocked stares, Roxy burst into laughter, "Do either of you know who you're fucking around with? This guy's a menace!"

Sollux frowned, "Roxy, quit being pretentious and just give them a rundown on what you know."

She rolled her eyes, "Fine, y'spoilsport. Basically, Gamzee got into a fight for whatever useless reason and was thrown in the compound's slammer for his transgression. But anyway," She waved it off with a flick of her wrist as she set back to the programming at hand. "I'm guessin' this is the same Gamzee Makara. Y'said you were lookin' for him?"

"Yes," Tavros replied quietly, "I was sort of hoping you could maybe, uh, track his phone or something. Dave's come here to have that done before."

"Really? Where the fuck was I then? Haha. Well, don't worry, sweetie, we'll find him! Or his phone, at the very least."

Eager to start the new project, Roxy sprawled on her stomach as her shirt rose a bit and displayed a stripe of exposed skin. Sitting crosslegged, Dave leaned over and tugged her shirt down. She grinned and slapped his hands away, "Don't disturb the working lady."

Tavros sank in the couch, legs crossed as he set his elbow on the couch's arm and placed his chin in his palm. He closed his eyes, listening to the rhythmic tapping of keys of both Sollux and Roxy. The yellowblood made it his mission to search and kiss Karkat concurrently, but the latter just nipped his lips and promised to do something more intimate later.

After two fruitless hours of scrolling, typing, and meaningless small talk, Roxy jerked up, "Whoa, hey! I think I got 'im!"

Scrambling to the floor, Tavros sat on his knees beside her as his eyes traced the jumbled mess of coordinates and maps. Dave, seated on Roxy's other side, tried making sense of the screen but to no success, "Where is he?"

"His phone, more accurately," Karkat corrected, but was silenced with a pat to the mouth by thin fingers.

"He's upstate," She began, narrowing her eyes for a split second, "In some city called Valston."

"Hmm," Sollux rubbed at his jaw, then his neck, "Let's check his recent purchases. See if he's doing any inconspicuous dirty work for GHB."

Tavros felt tears prick his eyes at the mention of dirty work, and he let out a shuddering breath. "I'm scared," He mumbled, eyelids shutting as he pushed back the wetness forming, "Horrendously so."

"It's alright to be scared," Roxy whispered, eyes glued to the gentle glow of her laptop's screen, "We all are."


	15. High and Mighty; Low and Timid

  
After an additional three hours of scouring purchase records, Roxy pushed her laptop from her legs and laid on her back. "Ugh, this guy just spends all his money at fancy pants hotels! Scourin' the whole state for like..ISA matches or something."

Tavros sent a pointed look to Dave, who raised his hands in defense, "I never told 'im to stalk me."

"He hardly has a paper trail," Sollux muttered, blatantly annoyed as he rubbed his eyes from underneath his dual-colored eyewear, "The most recent payment was at least two months ago. And it was just rent, so nothing particularly wonderful."

"How the fuck does he even survive if the only stuff from his accounts are big payments?" Frustrated, Dave cracked his knuckles to alleviate the rising level of aggravation. "Dude is shadier than I thought."

"It's the allowance, Strider." Karkat crossed his arms, "We've been over this."

"Can't you trace receipts when he uses cash, too?"

The yellowblood frowned sharply, "Yeah, if you want it to take twenty sweeps. We're a couple of dickheads with laptops and a skill with technology, not the human FBI."

"Okay, everyone is getting a little irritated. Let's just, uh, take a break before our thinkpans ooze out our auditory ducts." Standing from his previous position of sitting on the other side of Karkat, Tavros stretched his arms over his head and let his joints pop satisfyingly. Dave, with narrowed eyes behind his shades, made a gesture with his hand to grab the attention of his boyfriend. He jerked himself to stand ungracefully, his left leg tingling from the former lack of bloodflow. Tavros raised a brow at his seemingly surly behavior, but walked over to him anyway. "What?"

"Can I talk to you outside for a sec?"

He nearly protested, but Dave's set jaw and furrowed brows encouraged him otherwise. He nodded curtly and politely excused himself, then walked out swiftly with his lips cemented into a line.

In the hallway, Dave closed the door behind himself, "What the hell was all of that?"

Tavros' gentle brown eyes hardened, "What are you talking about?"

"All that cuddling shit with Vantas. What the hell was that, what were you thinking?"

"Dave, it's a couch, there isn't much room to spare, if you haven't noticed."

He flexed his fingers by his sides, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "Like there wasn't any room on the floor or anything."

"Wow, sorry. Maybe I wanted, uh, to sit on the couch instead of the hard floor." He threw his hands into the air in exasperation, "What is with you lately? You're controlling for absolutely no reason. First in the car- no, before that. With my phone. That, uh, never crossed your mind as being not okay?"

"I wanted to find you!" He justified with a raise in his voice, "Who knew where you were or what you were doing, so I had-"

"You had to?" Tavros wrapped his arms around himself loosely, his pointed teeth running over his thin black lips, "Or...or were you just too scared of me potentially moving on?"

Immediately, Dave trampled over his speech with his own argument, "I wasn't scared," He protested, "Worried, yeah. Concerned, definitely. But I wasn't scared."

Shaking his head, Tavros placed his hands on his hips and stared down at his feet before lifting his angered gaze to pierce through the glass of Dave's sunglasses, "Yes, you were. You were scared, of me ending up with Gamzee instead of you. And now, you are scared that others are trying to replace you, even if that other has a matesprit already."

"I'm not scared of anything," Dave declared, taking advancing steps towards Tavros, who instinctively backed away, "But you are, and that's why I have to protect you."

Pushing around him, Tavros growled lowly over his shoulder, "I don't need your protection, especially not like this. Now, uh, quit being a territorial, pathetic, barkbeast and help us find Gamzee."

The door thrust open, and Dave reluctantly followed after him.

\--

"They shouldn't be treatin' the heir in such a motherfuckin' way."

"Yer preachin' to the choir, my similar blooded brother."

"This is blasphemy unto itself! Those fuckers on the surface should spend a day down here to see what it's motherfuckin' like! No light 'nd food fit fer worms! Sittin' 'round in our goddamn filth like depraved animals."

"What has Gamzee ever done, anyway? Fuckin' stirred up a lil' trouble, but we ain't known to be any docile motherfuckers by the slightest."

Gamzee shook his wrists a bit at his block-mates' conversation, ears keen on listening to the chains snaking across the floor. They felt as though they were long enough for him to step outside the bars of his cell, but that was not the case. The cells were rectangular, with his neck and hands chained to the cold stone. It was damp and the temperature was lower than the surface. When all was quiet, which it was not often, Gamzee could hear his own bloodpusher thud and his stomach churn the miniscule amount of food he was able to hold down. There was not much to see outside of the slick, smooth, though uneven set of stone below him and other barren, sallow faces.

Once a day, along with the first meal, was a quick spray of freezing water from a hose to wash bodily fluids, leftover food, and Gamzee's happiness down various drains placed strategically throughout the block and in cells. Overall, it was just as disgusting as he had remembered.

"What do you think, Gamzee? As heir, ain't it your right to have a lil' more leeway than the rest of us?"

"I guess so," He mumbled, "I thought 'm supposed to be settin' an example for y'all."

The other criminals quieted at that, and Gamzee sighed dejectedly. "I was wrong in daddy GHB's eyes, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong for real." He cleared his throat, feeling nauseous just talking against his master, "How 'm I wrong for being flushed for someone? Who gives a shit if he's a brownblood, if 'm red for 'im, 'm red for 'im. Ain't no changing that, 'nd he can set me in the motherfucking block for a thousand sweeps before I even consider lettin' up." A yawn set on his tongue, mouth spread open like a cat before he closed it and ignored the flare of sickness in his throat.

There was a howl of disgusted laughter when Gamzee deposited his lunch down the drain in his cell, his coughs and splutters only fuel for their amusement. He sat up the best he could, as his awkward hunch was only the effect of scrambling.

"For the mighty heir, y'sure are motherfucking nasty."

His long ears flickered up at the voice of animosty from across the wide hallway, and Gamzee glared over the best he could with his sunken, fatigued eyes, "Y'wanna shout that shit again, girl?"

"I said that you're not hot shit like you think." The indigoblooded woman sat crosslegged in the middle of her cell, her black hair falling about her slender eyes. "Everyone's praisin' you like you're a messiah but we laugh at ya like a commoner. We got the same blood, so you're no different from me or anybody else up in here."

"I was all up 'nd hand picked, unlike you. You're below me fer a reason."

"Yer still just as plagued as the rest of us," She hissed, "You mumble that lowblood's name in yer sleep. Thrash around, grab at the air. Y'want him bad and it ain't concealed. The Grand Highblood did the right motherfuckin' thing lockin' you up here in Valston. Yer too dangerous, even by our standards."

"It's 'cause of the lack of sopor," He argued indignantly, "Everybody 'nd their lusii knows I need it more than the rest of ya."

"Excuses, excuses," She mocked, high pitched voice cracking into a squeal of cackling, "You're a motherfucking joke, Gamzee Makara, and you'll die at the indigobloods' feet before you take the throne. The moment y'stop actin' so high 'nd mighty is the day you get out of here."

"What the fuck do you know, anyway?" Growling, he sat with his back against the bumpy blocks of rock composing a wall and let the chill of depression seep over his long body.

The next day, the troll across the hallway was gone. Much to his annoyance, Gamzee learned that her sentence had ended.


	16. Bipolar Tendencies

Rubbing the back of his neck, Tavros stood, stretching his arms over his head. Last night had been long; dealing with the stress of trying to appease Dave and keep his mind on the task at hand was no easy feat. It was frightfully apparent how unstable both men were, and Roxy, with concern laced in her voice, advised that they return home. The argument in the car on the way to Tavros’ apartment was horrendous at best; Dave’s screaming, as unusual as it was, was coupled with a red face and underlying pain that Tavros had never seen before. The brownblood had stormed out the car and into his complex, Dave lingering in his vehicle before following fifteen minutes later. The human slumbered his anger away on the couch, Tavros in his recuperacoon.

Now awake and in his respiteblock, he briefly looked over the bags he had packed. He was determined to leave that night, whether Dave was ready or not. A part of him hoped that he would not continue on with the search; he wanted to go on alone, without the added anxiety of fights with the man he claimed to love.  Mentally checking items off his list, he left his room and stepped into his kitchen. His refrigerator, normally, did not hold many items, and he did not worry too much about anything going bad. Still, he rummaged through it, if only for something to occupy himself.

Tavros had packed away only a few things at first, but he was worried that the supposedly quick ride upstate would take much longer than that. A million thoughts rushed through his thinkpan as he held himself loosely, a majority of them worries. Paranoia reared its ugly head at the most mundane times, it seemed, and he trudged off to the couch to nudge his matesprit awake. There was the persistent worry of a fight of some sort occurring, but he swallowed his fear and reached out.

"Dave," He muttered, his hand curling around his shoulder to jostle him, "Get up."

The human stirred, though not enough to convey full consciousness as he tugged the comforter over his head. The shaking only continued, determination behind his voice, "Wake up. We have work to do."

"Later," Long legs stretched before curling up towards his stomach, "Couple more hours."

"We're pressed for time," Tavros insisted, opting for firm pushes to his spine when he turned away from him, "Get up or, uh, I will go find Gamzee alone."  
  
“You aren’t going to find that nutcase by yourself. You can’t.”  
  
“And, why not? What are you going to do about it?”

Thrusting himself up, he shook his disheveled hair from his forehead and stared at Tavros with light causing his eyes to squint. They shared a quick stare, and the troll curtly turned with his arms crossed, “Get dressed.”

“With what? If you haven’t noticed, I slept in the clothes I came in.”

“Just wear something of mine,” Tavros instructed, “Or we can, uh, stop by your place so you can pack and get dressed there.”  
  
Looking somewhat puzzled, Dave slid off the couch and stretched. Tavros’ tone was detached, as if giving simple orders to a foot soldier as he sat in his own office and dictated the moves of many. The blond rubbed his stubbly face and moved towards the kitchen, “Did you eat breakfast yet?”  
  
There was an answer of ‘no,’ Tavros heading to his bedroom again to give himself something, anything to do. Dave, on the other hand, tried combing his hair into slight neatness with his fingers as he thumbed around the kitchen in partial gloom. Deep down, he realized his transgressions, how tight his reigns on his boyfriend were becoming; he itched to hold him closely, squeeze him to his chest and whisper just how precious he truly was, to stroke his hair and kiss his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, his mouth. The feelings shot out at inopportune times, strangled his speech and turned his emotion bitter and calloused. Tavros symbolized everything he could not be, hope in its purest form, a deep set of love and affection mixed together that forced him forward to better himself. He admired him, that much was sure, but his protection and desire to see him happy caused riling ambition in himself. Dave swallowed thickly and forced down the flare of raw, scalding emotion in his gut.

He found nothing of particular interest in the kitchen, mostly due to the fact that Tavros’ food lacked meat entirely; a shame in Dave’s eyes. Begrudgingly, he grumbled as he walked into Tavros’ room, thick blond eyebrows furrowed.  
  
Clearing his throat to gather his attention, he held his arms out, “Gimme your bags, babe. I’ll take ‘em out to the door for you if you’re done packing.”

Tavros, pleasantly surprised by his kind, gruff action, handed over his things with a gentle smile. “Thanks. Are you ready to go, uh, to your hive now?”  
  
He nodded, leaving to deposit the suitcases by the door. “We can go out to eat, if y’want, beforehand.” Offhandedly, he gave the offer; his words seemed to tread on eggshells themselves as he rubbed at the back of his neck and raised his gaze from carpet to the melting chocolate of Tavros’. He knew they hadn’t much time, as ambiguity was the reigning theme of their impending journey upstate. Gamzee Makara would be their tying force in the days ahead, spurring any conflicts between them and indigobloods they would inevitably encounter. But for now, he sought a bit of peace with his love.

“Sure,” Was his answer, uncertain and soft, afraid that everything could suddenly take a turn for the worst. “Where are we, uh, going?”

After a quick pop of his knuckles, Dave nodded a bit, cementing their date of sorts, “Not sure yet. ‘ll find someplace.” To force nonchalance, he fell into his old habit of gathering a humorous feel to his words, “You, on the other hand, put on your sleekest black dress and get your fake lashes on, baby, I’m takin’ you out somewhere everyone’ll see you.”

\--

He couldn't take it anymore: the enclosed walls, the crazed babbles of his brethren in their confined spaces, the shivering of his body in tattered, damp clothes. It piled atop him, crushed the air out his lungs, dizzied him as he threw up after every meal and screwed his eyes shut when similar hued trolls screamed at him, cursed at him, praised him. He never realized how insane the blood coursing through his veins made him until he heard voices screech or whisper in his think pan, seemingly all-knowing bystanders that took residence in the deepest voids of the neurons tying his dysfunctional mind together. They hissed at him, spoke in ways that were not much clearer than the illogical drones of his family. At night, or what he assumed to be night, Gamzee scratched his arms until the warm blood washed over his skin and soaked into his pores. It almost felt like a sacrifice, his blood for Tavros, it was all for Tavros.

His mind, afflicted with a cloudy sense of reality, wondered what the brownblood was up to and reminisced in the memory of his body curled against his. It all tied back to sex, the collision of their bodies, the way his muscles tensed and Gamzee’s fingers twisting against whatever skin he could grab and hold. It was messy, forbidden, enticingly exhilarating to the point that he considered him an addiction; a bragging right when shoved in the face of his kismesis, asking mockingly if the human had seen the blooms of coffee blood below the surface of his skin, hickeys of the reddest kind. The way they fit together, bulge in nook, was never entirely just for kicks; Gamzee desired his emotions, his roughest feelings with sugar tinged underneath reserved only for him.

That morning, he was unable to eat; he had given up on consuming anything. While Tavros and Dave were happily gobbling at pancakes slathered in syrup and butter, Gamzee was panting on the freezing floor, struggling to control himself. The wounds he constantly cut into his skin were sewn shut by ice from the water they sprayed; it still stung, and supposedly a doctor of some kind was coming to wrap his arms properly, though Gamzee was skeptical. If he was hosed down every day, how was he to heal?

Laying on his back, he shut his eyes, listened to the chaos consuming him slowly, inside and out. The lack of spoor was taking its toll; he could barely sleep, and when he did, he was plagued by flashing images of Tavros. He was a smiling brownblood one moment, a frowning one the next, a crying one by the third, a dead one at the fourth. His love shot through him like adrenaline, made his palms sweaty and his teeth bare on instinct, made his head hurt at the temples like knives jabbed through the bone of his skull.

“Get me out,” He begged, “One a’ you motherfuckers bust me outta this joint. I can’t take it, I need to see Tavros.”

His followers, full of good intentions, shouted that their beloved heir didn't need a lowblood to be happy. Growling and weeping, Gamzee cursed them all, condemned them, hollered that their last nights be drowned in suffering. His apologies came soon after, a river of regret as he muttered that he didn't mean it; it was the other one in his motherfucking head.


	17. Hunt

Gamzee peered around, gaze locking on the long, skinny beam of light from the one door opening in the Block. It was two guards, though the timing seemed off for either of them to be there. A muscular man walked and stood in front of his cell, using the heavy, iron key to open it, then another to unlock his shackles. Roughly, he took Gamzee by the arm and pulled him up, his claws threatening to prick his skin, “Let’s go, Makara,” He growled, “We ain’t got all day.”

The other prisoners looked on in awe, some becoming angry and barking orders as if they held power, while others sat as close to the edge of their cells as they could, whispers of their successor’s name on their tongues. He climbed the stairs above ground, ears flattened to his head and bloodpusher racing against his ribs and lodging in his throat. Once on the other side of the Block, through the only door of the indigobloods’ constructed hell, he considered himself a free man. A second guard was waiting on the other side of the door, leveling the menacing gun in his hands.

Wincing noticeably, Gamzee shut his eyes as the first guard pushed him forward. “C’mon, Makara,” His voice was laced in disappointment, as if unbelieving of his torn state, “Follow the one in front of ya and don’t stir up no trouble.”

He hadn't much of a choice to do otherwise, as he was too weak to even walk properly, the bright lights of the surface world causing his already aching head to throb painfully. Shuffling across the dark tile below him, he turned to the right and watched as the slightly shorter guard in front of him opened a door. Another violetblood was inside, unsurprisingly; she was draped in a white lab coat, curly hair pulled back in a tight ponytail with glasses leveled on her nose, her face lacking any paint. Gamzee had never seen a fellow blooded troll look so distinguished before, and he assumed that, for whatever reason, his ‘father’ had taken platonic pity on him and ordered that he be looked at rather than have his arms haphazardly bandaged in the dark of his dungeon.

Behind her was a long counter housing a sink and cabinets above it and below it. From what he could tell, there were plain clothes folded neatly beside the sink, and she leaned against it, her brows pulled together as she stared into Gamzee’s eyes with a kind of calculating, no nonsense gaze that he was unaccustomed to.

In the light of the clinic, Gamzee could see his veins pushing against the skin of his bare feet and hands. His clothes were tattered and still clung to his body, and he ran the tip of his tongue over his cracked, dry lips. The guards left then, shutting the door behind them and standing on either side of it, as if anticipating their heir to snap. The doctor looked him over briefly, clicking her tongue in disapproval before she took the clothes and handed them over. “He shouldn’t be so hard on you,” Her voice held sympathy, despite her eyes and body language being the near opposite, “You’re our heir, merely a wiggler at that. You don’t know a fucking thing, don’t know any better than the next violet about how to run so many of us.”

Dumbly, he nodded and shed his clothes in favor of the clean, dry ones, too desperate to mind decency. She washed her hands, dried them, then took out the proper bandages and antiseptic to treat his wounds. She, like so many others, was not pleased with the Grand Highblood’s decision to thrust their adored inheritor into the notorious Block once again, but was unable to speak her mind directly. Had she or any other low-standing troll done so, they would be cut down without a second thought.

Once his wounds were taken care of, Gamzee glanced around, anxiety clear on his face. “ ‘m I gonna be taken back to the Block again?”

She shook her head slowly, “No. Need those nasty injuries to heal. Surprised they ain’t utterly infected by now.”

“Then where am I going?”

“A hotel, most likely,” She put away the bandages and the like, and Gamzee furrowed his brows as she continued, “One close to the compound to keep a close eye on ya. Pro’lly make you keep up with those subjugglator duties you’ve been shirking out on.”

“Man, I ain’t got time for no duties!” He threw his hands into the air, bare face contorted into anger, “I gotta find my matesprit and kick a human’s ass!”  
  
“Easy there, Makara,” She walked to the door, then opened it and motioned for Gamzee to leave, “Wouldn’t y’rather put a few out of line fuckers in their place than rot in the Block all over again?”  
  
Gamzee shot her a glare, ignoring how all-knowing everyone seemed to be but him. On the way out, he growled an expletive and punched the wall, making both guards jolt in surprise.  
  
“I wanna talk to our beloved Highblood.”

\--

In the car, Dave turned, easing a right and edging into another lane as Tavros tried to make sense of the directions on his phone before finally giving up and sighing. “Dave,” He began, eyes locked on the world moving past them on the interstate, “Have you ever been to, Valston?”  
  
“Briefly,” He answered, being mindful of his lead foot as he drove behind a slow, slate colored van. Cursing under his breath, he switched on his signal light and got into the next lane, flipping the bird to a couple with rowdy children in the back seats. Tavros held back a small smile. “Why were you, in Valston?”  
  
“Just passing through for a fight, that’s all.  I’m not exactly famous out of state.”  
  
“Ohh,” Tavros’ eyes, inquisitive and large, locked on him before he leaned over the center console and kissed his cheek. “We need to talk.”  
  
“Fuckin’-“ Grip tightening on the steering wheel, he sped up, taking the fourth exit and easing up on the gas when he was stuck behind a mid-sized car. “Agh, Tav, a real talk isn’t what you should tell your boyfriend you need when you’re surrounded by steel and glass and any wrong move by said boyfriend could result in serious injury or death. So, y’know. I warned you, goddammit, I warned you.”

 He smiled sheepishly, “Now may not be the best time.” Flipping through contacts on his phone, he shot a text to Karkat, asking for any new information. He hoped the other troll wasn’t too busy snogging his matesprit than to pay attention to his pale quadrant, but advice concerning the four squares was never his strong point. “But. I think, uh, once in Valston, and we rest for the night, we should talk about our relationship. What will happen when we, locate Gamzee. This sort of thing, uh. Doesn’t just go away with a stack of pancakes and a glass of apple juice.”  
  
“His phone, actually.” Dave was quick to correct, as his skepticism regarding Gamzee was blatant, “We don’t one hundred percent know where he is. Just his phone.”  
  
He hissed, “You know what I meant!”  
  
“Listen to me, Tavros and listen well. I don’t want you getting your hopes too high, just to get them crushed.” Shaking his head, Dave readjusted his mirror and let out a slow breath through his lips, “You always do this. Trust too much, love too hard, hope too high. And when it all comes crashing down on you, you don’t know how to fix yourself.”  
  
Looking down at his lap, his gray, pointed ears pressed against his skull, “But you’re always, uh. There to put me back in working order again, Dave.”  
  
“Yeah…” He mumbled, “Love sure does give a guy courage, huh?” 


	18. A Much Needed Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eighteen chapters in and there's finally an explicit sex scene.

After a lengthy drive and quiet murmurs and tidbits of conversation, Tavros and Dave finally arrived upstate in Valston. They booked a hotel and found a comfortable room for the night, as it had taken nearly all day to drive towards a place they knew next to nothing about. Exhausted, Dave laid face first on the bed and groaned, body limp and his arms spread out on either side of him, as if he had fallen from a great height and splattered onto the bed itself. His companion set down his bags in the corner so they would be out the way and opened a bag which held items for hygiene and placed them on the sink in the bathroom with intentions to bathe as soon as possible. Returning, he sat on the edge of the bed and idly played with the thin strands of blond hair, “Tired, huh?”  
Grunting in response, he rolled over onto his side and draped an arm over the other’s legs, then tugged him close. Amused, Tavros pecked his temple and wiggled to be let go of, “Get off. I have to, shower.”  
“Shower?” With a raise of his eyebrow and a devilish smile, Dave sat up and scooted over til he was thigh to thigh with his gray lover, “You think there’s room for two in there?” 

“With my horns, uh, I doubt it would be a fun venture.” 

“Hey, I could crouch. I don’t mind. There’s also the possibility of a bath,” Resting his hands on his hips, he pecked his cheek and nosed the curved plane of skin affectionately, “All that silky skin mine for the taking. What I wouldn’t give to see you slathered up in fruit-scented foam and screaming my name.” 

Tensing a bit as his hands roamed, Tavros purred softly and lifted his own hands to smooth past Dave’s neck and dangle behind him. “Um. Th-there is nothing stating that we cannot,” He mumbled, feeling his cheeks begin to burn. It was different this way; there was no lure of money, no worry of tips, no pleading for the other to just touch him like he loved him. It was pure, unadulterated love, and he shuddered slightly at the overwhelming flare of affection rearing up in his heart. The realization was, at times, drastically sharp and caused soft gasps and nervous sweats. Tavros loved him, he knew he did, and the intensity of it all was sometimes staggering and breathtakingly pure. “Oh, Dave, can we just go now?” 

Hooking his arms underneath the bend of his knees and his back, Dave hoisted him up and made his way to the bathroom, “Baby, anything you want, you can have.”  
Setting him down, he slipped a hand into the back pocket of his jeans, lips pressing to Tavros’ as his free hand cupped his face. The difference in temperature was more prominent than he would have liked, seeing as how his little brownblood was naturally warmer than him, but Tavros seemed to enjoy the cooler sensation on his face. Purring louder, he wrapped his arms around his midsection in a loose hug, tongue gliding out to graze the other’s lower lip, corner to corner as his fingers fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Tugging off the now irritating article of clothing, Tavros unabashedly let his eyes scale the more muscular frame of his tanned matesprit, then used his fingers to nimbly undo his jeans. Dave let out a one-syllable laugh, a small spout of air marking his amusement as he shimmied out of his pants, followed by his boxers and stood proudly naked in front of his purring boyfriend.  
For a moment, he had almost forgotten that he was clothed himself, and Tavros chirped in surprise when Dave gingerly worked his now unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders. He was tender in his time, hands that were normally poised for punches were now sweet and loving when removing articles of clothing. Once Tavros wiggled his way out of his jeans and stepped out of them, Dave noted with lifted brows that he hadn’t fallen out of the habit of wearing thongs red in color.  
Delicately, the boxer bent his thumbs into the skinny hem of his thong and pulled down gradually, savoring his supple thighs, sepia-tinged skin and the small quiver of his hips that he knew all too well. Stepping towards the shower, Tavros took a moment to figure it out while he felt Dave’s eyes sweep his frame appreciatively. The shower turned on, hot water pelting the cream colored tile as Tavros slunk in with a pleased sigh. Dave followed soon after with body wash in hand, his strong arms almost immediately circling a narrow waist and he pressed his larger body against his back. Purring, he arched his spine and tilted his head back, a smile gracing his features as Dave placed a warm kiss to his forehead. Tavros turned around, eager to start, his body wet and dripping and his hair falling in his eyes. 

Reaching up, he kissed his lips with a zealous roughness that he knew Dave adored, relishing in the surprised moan that slipped through as tongues intertwined and hands roamed. Dave’s, however, garnished body wash and rubbed a copious amount against the arched back of Tavros, the white foam he alluded to earlier piling on his shoulders and sides. The blond shivered, feeling the familiar, though always peculiarly foreign sensation of Tavros’ bulge unsheathe and slither against his inner thigh. As bizarre as it was, it never ceased to make Dave sigh shakily in arousal and roll his hips harder with an order on his tongue, “Spread your legs, darlin’.” 

Doing as he was told with nary a complaint, Tavros returned the grind of his hips with one of his own, hot dampness forming in his nook as a clean index finger tenderly worked itself inside. Shuddering, he rocked his hips, an indication for more as Dave slid in a second. A sharp hiss appeared on his tongue, teeth instinctively bared as Dave curled his fingers and watched Tavros tremble and try to regain his footing in the slippery shower. Using his other hand to steady him, he pumped his fingers faster and focused on drawing out those delicious little croons of pleasure, a growl beginning in the troll’s chest as he shut his eyes and ended the sound with a quivering moan. Still, he did not advance without key signs, as much as he wanted to, and when Tavros babbled that he just needed to get fucked against the wall, Dave did not hesitate for a second.  
Once he grabbed onto his thighs and positioned his gray body against the wall of the shower, Dave bent his body over the other’s and left fleeting kisses over his wet forehead and cheeks. Tavros, with a purr, kept his arms surrounding the human’s neck and his own available for any bites that Dave may be so inclined to leave on his skin. Voice laced with lust, he questioned if he was ready and was met with a whine and nips to his jaw that Dave assumed meant to go now. Slipping inside, he rocked easily, a soft snarl on Dave’s tongue as he remarked that it felt just like their first time. His head felt like it was swimming and his hips snapped at their own accord, Dave’s body scorching and his blunt teeth nibbling on the smooth skin of his neck. Claws raking helplessly at his back and shoulders, Tavros rumbled a purr in his chest and pressed his hips back to match the perfect thrusts of his matesprit. 

Water drenched them both, bodies colliding and claws scoring shallow open wounds on broad spaces of skin, eyes screwing shut and hips slamming together as the shower overpowered any squelching sounds of love making. Shaking, Dave growled that he was close, pleasurable heat flocking to his pelvis as he focused on harder thrusts rather than speed. Leaning up, Tavros forced a kiss to his lips and was met with a hardened groan of lust in the returned kiss, a shorter tongue curling around a longer, thinner one. There were no words spoken as genetic material coated Tavros’ thighs, the tightened causing a release of Dave’s own as he slowed his hips and eventually stopped, his heart racing in his chest and his grip on Tavros never decreasing. A long, satisfied purr vibrated in Tavros’ chest, eyes opening and his tongue savoring their mixed taste as he kissed his lips briefly, a proclamation of his love leaving his mouth in a whisper and hanging in the air heavy with their pants. Dave, a soft smile creating his expression, returned it with as much tender love as he could muster as he pulled out and gently smoothed the hair from his face.


	19. Emerge from Below

A soft hum of a laptop was heard, tapping keys and mellow music murmuring from a speaker mingled with the sound of it, and Roxy, with tired eyes and a half-full mug of stale coffee beside her, resisted her edging yawn to glance at her partner. Sollux, often pulling all -nighters for the sake of programming, hardly felt the creeping temptation of sleep.  The room was dim, as per usual, another whole day spent perusing secret files and supposedly protected websites. Had it not been for the time glowing in the corner of her screen, Roxy wouldn’t have any idea as to what day it was.   
  
Stretching her legs out in front of her, she laid on her back and stared at the ceiling. “Have you found anything even a lil’ important?”   
  
“I’ve got plenty of random pieces. None of which make any damn sense, but they’re present. You?”   
  
She rolled over and laid her cheek against the carpet, “I’ve moved my focus to researching like a fucking geek stuck on a Star Trek forum.”   
  
“What?”  
  
“I’ve been as attentive as I could possibly be.” She dismissed, rubbing furiously at her eyes as if that would get rid of her forming bags, “ ‘Nd I’ve been finding articles and online papers about Indigobloods, their nature and their barbaric, somewhat ICP lookin’ culture.” Sollux raised an eyebrow at her lethargic explanation, “And what’d you get from that?”   
  
“I got that what Grumpy Face rattled on about, things like allowances and shit is true. But also that their compound is like a country unto itself,” Suddenly, Roxy sat up, a quick, jerky action in an attempt to wake up her slowing brain and jostle memories of things she had read, “They’ve got punishments and dungeons and guards and all kinds of other things that, y’know. Kinda constitute a society. A hierarchy and everything! And that got me to thinkin’. Maybe this Gamzee asshole has thrust himself into a world, our world, that can’t really coexist with the Indigoblooded one. Not without complications. And Dave and Tavros are part of the other society that he can’t have.”

Sollux leaned back in his seat on the couch, vaguely wishing Karkat was there to either throw in his own two cents or make better sense of what she had explained, but the other troll had left the living room in favor of slumbering in the dual-horned man’s recuperacoon. He had come over to help, provide tidbits of information unique solely to Gamzee, then lay his head against Sollux’s shoulder and complain that his matesprit would get a bad back if he kept slouching over his laptop like that. He snorted, “So you’ve taken a philosophical approach to this rather than logical?”

She shrugged a shoulder, “It beats rummaging through the internet for a hardly traceable man.”  
  
“Touche.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “We’ve been at this for so long. Two days, we’ve been looking for this prick, any little hint of him, and we’ve found jack shit and a half. I’m starting to think that it’d be better to cut it while we’re ahead and let Dave and Tavros figure out what they can in Valston.”  
  
Roxy shuffled a hand through her hair, mumbling, “We can’t just give up, dude. We’d look like a pair of chumps.”  
  
“We can’t just keep going on and on without any results, Roxy. That’s stupid.”  
  
“We’ll just take a break and start in a day or two. Check in with our lil’ couple in the meantime.”  
  
\--

 

Rocking on his heels at a crosswalk, Tavros stood on the curb and crossed his arms as he waited. They had spent the better part of the day searching far and wide through Valston, by public transportation, by car, by foot; Tavros had insisted that he check a few alleys, just in case. He was growing frantic now, panic scraping at his veins. More than anything, he wished to find Gamzee, and that overwhelming need was pressing an uncomfortable weight on his relationship with Dave; no doubt, the other had more or less given up on Gamzee, a heartless action Tavros would not forgive. A creeping, repetitive thought often reminded him that Dave was doing this to please him moreso than satisfy his own curiosity or true caring. There was the normal, human urge to make sure that everything was alright, but Dave usually mumbled under his breath all the things he could be doing instead of searching for a highblood that seemingly vanished off the face of the planet.

The crosswalk signaled that it was safe for him to cross, and as Tavros trudged along with furrowed brows and a scowl uncharacteristic to him, he swore he saw a man similar to that of Gamzee.  Lankier, less oriented, his wobbling similar to that of a newborn calf. He focused closer to his gait before his eyes glanced up to the horns protruding from the top of his head. Startled, Tavros took off, wary of whoever was walking or standing around him as he sprinted around Gamzee and stood in front of him. “Gamzee!” He blurted, a yell as though he were far away, “Gamzee!”   
  
Nothing was adding up, nothing made sense. He was feeling dizzy, malnourished, emotionally starved; part of his sentence was parole, and at the hollering of his name, Gamzee had assumed that one of his similar-hued brothers or sisters had found him somehow breaking the indigoblooded law. Stumbling to a stop and nearly trampling on top of Tavros, he tiredly looked down at him and mouthed his name, a breath of a voice leaving him, “Tavros.”   
  
Too shocked to cry or blubber or even think of asking questions, he ran a hand over his chest, brought the other to his shoulder and patted him down. Gamzee winced; his body ached all over, a drug coursing through his muscles and his blood and causing his nose to burn and be filled with a metallic scent. It was meant to slow him down, keep him in a state between unconsciousness and awake, for he was fully aware of the world around him but his body struggled to keep up. Tavros’ words came out as warbled gibberish, his name sounding twisted and foreign. He kept asking what, Tavros’ voice reminding him of words shouted underwater rather than the dulcet tones he had remembered.  He covered his ears, grumbling, frustrated with himself for being unable to understand the way he wished to, “Stop…stop it.”

“What?” He questioned,  his touch delicate and his eyes fragile, threatening to break with tears, “What are you, d-doing out here? Are you alright?”  
  
“Fine,” Gamzee whispered, pushing his hands away weakly and simultaneously wishing to scoop him into his arms, “Leave.”  
  
Watching in horror as he tried to move around him, Tavros took a step back and placed his hands onto his chest and felt with a flare of sickness how he heaved a breath below his fingers, “I am n-not going anywhere, do you understand me?” He looked around, pleading with his eyes to the people that passed that looked but never spoke. “I h-have been searching and worrying about you, uh, incessantly, and now that I have you, I am not going to let you go.”   
  
“ ‘M not my mo’erfuckin’ self,” Came his winded, slurred explanation, his face bare of paint and three scabbed scratches on his face. Another piece of evidence pointing to his sentence. “Can’t leave Valston, neither.”

“Then just come with Dave and I-“  
  
“Nmm,” He rubbed at his temples slowly, “Fuck that guy.”  
  
“Gamzee, please, you’re in pain,” Tavros reached up and cupped his face, thumbs smoothing over his cheeks as the taller male had done so many times to him, “Just come with me, p-please?”

Figuring that he hadn’t much of a choice, and assuming that he wasn’t breaking parole for being around Tavros, he agreed reluctantly and allowed his body to be lead towards the direction of Tavros’ hotel.

He seemed to fade in and out, blacking out completely at times. Time lapsed awkwardly, for one moment he was stumbling along to walk with Tavros, the next he was in the elevator. The strange feeling forced him to sit, and Gamzee screwed his eyes shut at the enclosed space. Tavros questioned him softly about it, but when he was met with whimpers for responses, he opted for gentle kisses and pets to the hair.

In the hotel room, Gamzee laid down on the bed, clothes bearing stains and tears. He was clumsy with that drug in his system, and he dropped things or tripped over his feet more than he would like to admit. Gamzee gurgled a response when Tavros tried asking him simple questions, and the brownblood had to rely on different pitched grunts as means of an answers. He tucked him in like a child, ordered room service and did his best to keep him comfortable, but it was difficult to tell when Gamzee went through fits of tears of frustration to quiet stillness.

When he seemed to have fallen asleep, Tavros called Dave and did his best to keep his voice steady, “I f-found him,” He murmured, “Come, here. Please.” His fingers curled, claws digging into his palm, “ _P-Please.”_


	20. Divided by Smothering

 

His heart pounded into his chest, like a fighter’s fists against flesh. Goosebumps rose on his skin at the pitiful sight that was Gamzee, the same troll that had previously intimidated and enticed him, a troll that was so scarily interesting that it almost seemed dangerous to even think about him. Now, he was reduced to blubbering man with battle scars across his face.

The door clicked shut and shades were pushed into blond hair. Tavros watched silently, trailing his eyes from Dave to Gamzee and shaking his head slowly to himself in disbelief. “I d-don’t know how this happened,” He muttered, a hand gently holding Gamzee’s as he writhed momentarily in his sleep, “Uh. Something is d-definitely horribly wrong with him, but I don’t know what it is.” He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his body shaking whenever Gamzee moved abruptly, “He can barely even, walk.”  
  
“How’d you find him?” Dave asked, slowly moving towards Tavros to stand across from him; he felt too close to the sight before him, and he squinted his eyes to try to focus, “Where was he?”  
  
“Just..j-just walking,” He threw his hands up, then let them drop with an audible smack against his thighs, “Well, lumbering about. He, uh, looked to be not himself. He is skinnier and more irritable. His speech was h-hardly in complete sentences. Even when he was high out of his thinkpan, his speech made sense.”

Sinking to the floor in defeat, Dave rubbed at his jaw as he looked down at the carpet harshly, as if trying to pick out the individual fibers creating it, “So wherever he was, he got fucked up.”  
  
“He said he can’t leave Valston,” Tavros informed softly, “But he never said why.”  
  
“He probably doesn’t wanna go home and worry you half to death.”  
  
Bitterly, he laughed, “A tad too late for that.”

In the midst of their conversation, Gamzee twitched once more, but his eyes fluttered open and he gasped in a breath. Gaze darting in slow anxiety, they laid on Tavros and softened slightly, but his body would not lose its tension. The bullhorned troll laid a hand over his chest and rubbed comfortingly before moving up to smooth his hair from his sweat drenched forehead. “Are you okay?” He murmured, head tilted to one side, “Hungry?”  
  
“Ngh. No,” He closed his eyes, enjoying the cooler feeling of Tavros’ fingers against his burning skin and ignored Dave for the time being, “ ‘M hot.”

He stood up and pulled the comforter and sheets from his body and loosened his clothes about his skin. Gamzee chirped lethargically in satisfaction, appearing to be less antsy and afraid now that he was behind closed doors and his beloved Tavros was with him. Shifting in his seat on the floor, Dave frowned sharply, “Hold the goddamn phone.”  
  
Both trolls perked up at his sudden piercing tone, Tavros quick to speak, “What?”  
  
“He’s actin’ all funny to get your attention. You know just as well as I do how much this fucker loves you, and now he’s tryin’ t’get all in your good graces by actin’ like a huge baby! He doesn’t need your help,” Voice like venom, Dave continued his accusation, “He looks better ‘n better every minute that goes by. And to think, I actually fucking felt _sorry_ for you.”

“Dave!” Voice raising an octave in shock doused in anger, Tavros shook his head, “How c-could you say something like that, knowing that Gamzee is. Uh. Obviously not himself and in dire need, of medical attention?”  
  
“I’m sayin’ it ‘cause it’s damn well true and you know it! Fuck, I could just-” Clambering to his feet, Dave returned his shades to their proper place and tried not to ramble relentlessly about how utterly _wrong_ this situation was, “I could be out in a match right now, I could be _training_ , but instead I spent days searching for this prick so he could snuggle in bed and undress you with his eyes? I don’t think so, Tavros, I don’t fucking think so.”  
  
Eyes wide and frightened, he glanced to Gamzee, then to Dave and finally to the floor, “I do not understand why you feel that every male I am around could possibly have ulterior motives.” He scowled, “It is as if you do not, uh, trust me.”  
  
“But I do,” His voice adopted a plea, dropping in volume in an attempt to be less threatening, “It’s. It’s everyone else that I don't trust, and it's because you can’t see that they’re up to something and I can.”  
  
“Your thinkpan is still stuck, in the same mentality it always is,” He snapped his gaze up to glare past the opaque plastic of Dave’s shades, “You always think that I need saving or protection! But, uh, I can handle myself, I know that I can, and you. You are smothering me like this, Dave, you truly are.”

His words hung in the air and dropped to the floor, shattering into pieces that shot up and struck Dave’s heart. He frowned sharply, directing his irritated gaze to Gamzee before he muttered under his breath and stomped towards the door. “Alright, fine,” He acquiesced, eyes smoldering behind his shades as he watched Tavros’ expression melt from determined aggravation to soft confusion and hurt, “If you wanna sit around here and tend to your  _matesprit_ , then go ahead. I’ll be out.” The door slammed moments later, and Tavros slumped. It was growing tiresome and exhausting, having to deal with his outbursts; at times, he felt as though he was dating an overgrown child prone to tantrums. Gamzee grumbled a comforting purr as best he could, and Tavros slipped into the bathroom to cry in privacy. 

\--

At home, Roxy sprawled on her couch and rubbed the head of one of her cats, smiling in small delight at his purring before setting him down on the floor. She flipped through channels, glad to have a sort of day off from her excellent, though fruitless hacking. Although she had done extensive research, so long as her attention was fully paid to it, it was becoming tedious and wearisome, and with no word from the couple in Valston, she had next to no motivation. Roxy settled on some old school cartoons and prepared for a lazy afternoon, only to have her phone buzz on the arm of the piece of furniture and her hand slap around blindly, then grab it and put it on speaker. “Hello?”

“Hey,” A gravelly voice was heard on the other end, a clear of the throat, then a stronger voice, “He found him.”

“Dave?” She sat up, turning off her television and spoke carefully, “Tavros found Gamzee?”

A listless sigh was the first response prior to actual words, “Yeah. He was stumbling around downtown when Tav found him. He brought him back to the hotel room, and. I don’t know. Is apparently babying his ass since he appears to be slightly higher than usual.”

She furrowed her eyebrows, “They coulda very well done something totes sinister to him while he was at the campground!”

“Compound.”

“At the compound! I haven’t had much sleep.”

“I barely even noticed. Listen, Roxy,” Placing his phone to his other ear, Dave leaned back in his seat on the wrought iron bench and peered at the tall trees with solid trunks towering over him. The park was bustling, people of both species jogging or walking around for fun. Dave inwardly noted with a grimace that he could be training in that very park for an upcoming match of some kind. “If Tav calls you to tell you the news, don’t let him spew bullshit like I’m being overprotective. He, of all people, should know how dangerous others can be. I’m just trying to keep him safe.”

“Er.” She fiddled with a lock of her hair, twisting it between her index finger and thumb, “Dave, if you and Twinkle Toes Tav are having some honest to God relationship issues, I’m not really the one to discuss it with.”

“But you and Jane-?”

“We’re still a thing!” Roxy insisted, afraid that he may have gotten the wrong impression, then huffed, “Uh. Things are a little rocky because of my drinking again, but hanging around Sollux and the rest a’ you is making the urge a little less prominent.  Man, this is really the last thing I want to be talking about!”

On the other line, Dave stretched his legs in front of him and watched the pigeons coo about his limbs and bob underneath them, “Fuck, sorry. It's just now that Gamzee’s here, he’s takin’ an extra strain on my own relationship. It’s makin’ things unnecessarily difficult.”

“If you’re havin’ troll problems, I feel bad for you, son; I’ve got a girlfriend but she ain’t one.”

“Roxy,” He felt a chuckle rise out of him, despite his best efforts to keep it down, “Fuck you, man.”

Smiling gently, she closed her eyes, “As much as I’m honored to have you come to me about your issues, I’m not the one for it. Talk to Rose about it; her and Kanaya have been together for years and they’ve never really had much of a fight that kept ‘em away from each other for long.”

“Right,” He breathed out and stared up at the sky, “Stomping away from him every time we mess up isn’t gonna fix anything.”

“Truer words were never spoken, Mister Strider.”

“I guess I’ll call her up,” Dave decided somewhat reluctantly, as part of him was fearful that his cousin would attempt to find greater meaning in every word he spoke. Though, he did realize that out of his family, Rose was the best with relationships and handling herself, more or less, so he assumed that Roxy was correct in her recommendation. “I’ll see tomorrow, most likely. We’re comin’ home soon.”

“Alrighty,” A grin lingered in her voice, “See you.”

The call ended, and Dave fiddled in his contacts list before finding his cousin's name and calling. She answered after the second ring, “David,” A pleasant ring was to her voice, and she paused momentarily to sip something from a dark mug, “What a lovely sur-.”

“Cut the shit, Rose,” He barked, but his voice softened immediately after, “I- We- We gotta talk.”

“Oh?”

“The three of us.” 


	21. Problems with Polyamory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oops it's been 8 months since i updated

“There comes a time,” She began, “In which the capacity for love nearly explodes.”

“I haven’t a clue as to what you’re talking about.”

“Trolls are naturally polyamorous beings, David. Surely you were well aware of that. And, as such, there is little room for monogamy unless it is strictly to that quadrant. But think about it – Tavros does not have much of a hand as pitch relationships,” A sip to tea that is careful, deliberate of the words preceding it, “Should it not be unsurprising that he tends to gravitate towards two men in one quadrant as opposed to two separate men in two separate quadrants?”

The counseling of sorts was not as all-encompassing as Dave would have preferred; there was a particular tangent in which Rose, as intelligent as she was, could not move on from. That is, unless Dave came to terms that Tavros was not going to simply choose one male as opposed to the other, he was always going to find some kind of problem within the confines of their relationship. There were too many factors embedded in a relationship falling apart at the seams; she sipped her tea condescendingly, regarding her cousin with mild contempt. She thought it idiotic that he would attempt to hoard Tavros to himself, but it was not some secret that Dave was not accustomed to sharing.

She poured Tavros another cup of tea, which he had hastily downed two times before in nervousness; if kept him occupied and from having to speak about Gamzee, who sat just on the other side of him on the sofa. They were situated in stylish apartment, the pinnacle of vintage furniture and carefully placed technology. Kanaya had an eye for older works, and Rose, with a hint of modern tendencies, put together accent pieces and specific colors that gave the mostly lavender and cream-colored room a certain sophistication that denoted deliberateness. The sofa they sat upon, soft and tidy, felt too comfortable for Tavros’s current state of mind – he was near collapsing in on himself, like a dying star, cursed to obliterate anything and everything nearest to him. He was nervous, too nervous to concentrate, and questions directed towards him were always met with a tiny tensing of his shoulders before he answered.

There was always a contest for his affection, which he hoped he could remedy with a couple sessions with Rose; Dave would place a heavy palm on his thigh, and Tavros, fractionally, would smile in thanks. Gamzee, sensing that he was about to be outdone, would curl an arm around his shoulder. And, comically, the end result was always Tavros pushing them both away, their smothering tendencies making him uncomfortable and annoyed. Each instance was scribbled out in a pad of paper by Rose. He felt like a guinea pig.

Dave, frankly, was irritated by everything, even if he had been the one to orchestrate this meeting to begin with. Gamzee was too close, Rose was too sarcastic under the premise of being right, and Tavros looked so close to screaming in frustration that Dave was damn near ready to cover his ears. Tea did little to help anyone, and Gamzee rarely touched his own cup. The whole set-up gave one the feeling of an old therapist’s office, with a fish bowl on a table and a pack of cigarettes presented for some type of controlled stress relief. Gamzee was half-tempted to elbow Tavros and question, ‘And how does that make you _feel?_ ”

 Continuing on, Rose crossed her legs below her long white skirt, “It is not a new idea, especially with this modern age. With no need for the Mother Grub any longer, there is much more freedom with relationships. Trolls that are more inclined to one type of romance as opposed to another, -or none at all- have the ability to pick and choose their relationships with nary the batting of an eyelash.  It is much more common than you may think or even be aware of. But I urge you, Dave and Gamzee, to try to get along, at any rate.” Tavros looked annoyed at just the idea, so she rephrased her words, “Get along in the sense that it is healthy.”

“Like what?” The purpleblood drawled, “Trying kismesistude again? This motherfucker’s got inclinations that I won’t be good for that type a’ shit anymore, least all, not with Tav thrown into the mix. Can’t be fuelin’ our black feelin’s if it’s him in the middle. Playin’ tug a’ war with his bloodpusher strings ain’t what you’d call healthy, neither.”

“Perhaps not,” She admitted, “But, then again, you were without a proper auspitice…”

Dave snorted in disbelief, “Humans aren’t even cut out for hating, so you can drop the shit right now.”

“Intermingling quadrants can be done,” Rose snapped, but soon fell back into her normal rhythm of speaking when Tavros looked uncomfortable to even be sitting in the room. He was such a scared little thing, frightened by a door opening or a window shutting, fearful that something may occur that he was not prepared for. Should he keep his guard up, he will never be taken advantage of. Poor thing, poor thing. “It may have times in which it is…messy, for lack of a better term, but think about it this way. Would you all rather try to work out the kinks and issues amongst yourselves, or completely disband? Gamzee, Dave, I encourage you both to work out a black agreement of some kind with Tavros acting as an auspitice. And Tavros,” She smiled comfortingly, “Please do try to work things out with these two.”

The blond, who had been flexing his fingers repeatedly, shook his head at the suggestions and set down his tea. This was absurd – she was making himself and Gamzee out to be the bad guys, (though he wouldn’t dispute the latter) when it was clear to him that Tavros had a decision to make. Either he would be with Dave, or he would be with Gamzee, he couldn’t just ‘make things work out.’ It was impossible. Voicing his concerns, ample gesticulation included, Dave initiated, “Tavros and I had a good thing going on between us-“

“Good thing?” He spluttered incredulously, finding a backbone beneath those layers of anxiety, “You yelled at me for sitting on a couch, with another troll!”

Dave wrinkled his nose, scandalized that something that happened so long ago was even being taken into account, “You were acting like a _whore-“_

“Call ‘im a whore again!” Gamzee urged, suddenly standing with his eyes flashing and his sharp teeth instinctively on display, “I’ll rip your vocal chords out, Strider, don’t motherfuckin’ test me.”

“I didn’t say he was a whore,” Came his hiss of an answer, and Tavros resorted to covering his ears with his hands, not wishing to hear them fight again, “I said he was _acting_ like one. Maybe if you weren’t stoned off your ass all the time, you could actually understand what the fuck I’m saying.”

A growl ripped itself from his throat; Gamzee had gone through way too much to just let some human talk down to him, especially not in front of his matesprit like this, the only person in the entire world that understood him completely, “I’ma give you ‘bout two point five seconds to apologize to Tav before your pretty red blood is on m’hands, Strider. I ain’t gonna ask you but once.”

“Gentlemen, please,” Rose, finally deciding it was her time to intervene, since it became rapidly apparent that neither male was going to step down for any reason, “Threats aside, let’s think about what’s going on, shall we? Let’s talk about how we jumped so startlingly quick to violence,” She gestured to Tavros now, “And how it affects the ones around us.”

The haze of red faded from their gazes, and Gamzee, as if lifeless like a doll, flopped onto the couch beside Tavros. The brownblood lowered his hands, looking as if he would suffer an attack of some sort, and Gamzee knew he had, at some point, brutally severed the bond that kept them together. His dearest love, the one he fantasized of in the Block, the one he broke parole for was not going to escape his grasp a second time. The other indigos didn’t even know where he was, his mind was clearer without sopor nor drug, and Gamzee felt so heightened by this experience that he felt as though he could take on the world. “I ain’t gonna letcha go, Tav, baby,” He peered at him from a sidelong gaze, then felt his heart break at his little lover’s pain and planted kisses to his face, “C’mon, look at me. I broke parole for you, sweetheart, I’m a dangerous man but I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to hurt you.”


	22. Singularity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oops i disappeared again  
> does anybody even read this anymore

He winced at the soft thud of the mug against the table. There was much to be discussed, so much in terms of emotional garbage to sift through. Dave was well aware of his shortcomings; underneath his usual façade and jabs of uncharacteristic anger was a vulnerability he wasn't ready to show his boyfriend or his kismesis. His cousins could see it, though she had always been good about peering into his eyes past his dark shades and leveling his gaze. There was a particular way she had when it came to him, she knew what to tell him but not coddle him with her words; her syllables were tools and she knew this, and Dave was well aware that trying to get her on 'his side' wasn't going to do anything but ruin his relationships. It didn't help that Rose had a specific strain of superiority about her that he loathed, though he did realize that it was likely much easier to analyze his relationships from an outside perspective as opposed to being thrust in it and swayed by emotions.

"I'm surprised that you requested a singular meeting," She had no clipboard, no notepad, no pen; it was purely a talking session, an impromptu work to discuss things at large. Rose wouldn't bother him with writing, "How have things been?"

His hands lifted to slide off his shades, fold them neatly and set them on the table. There was no clear place for him to start, so he jumped right in, "It's been like, what, two weeks since we talked last? And I've been thinking about what you said, how Tavros is more inclined to loving and whatever else. How he ain't one to start a pitch relationship and it probably just makes more sense for things to have worked out this way. I couldn't be mad at him for having the both of us, I was fucking him and fucking Gamzee at the same time in the beginning before either of them knew each other. I'm just sayin' that I don't think that his polyamory in one quadrant was ever the problem."   


"Oh?"   


"It's me. I've always been the problem. 'S just that I got used to playing hero."   


Rose gave a slow nod, her hands folded politely on her lap, urging him to continue, "Playing hero, Dave?"  


"I thought about how we met, how we got involved with each other. It was sex," He leaned back, resting his arms on the back of the couch he was sitting on, one of his arms bending at the elbow and his hand rubbing at his exposed eyes. "He was a stripper and a prostitute, and I was a regular. I wanted to swoop in, save the day, keep him outta that lifestyle. I could see it, it was losing its luster to him, it was eating him from the inside out like some kind of insatiable tapeworm. Of course, he didn't want to admit anything like that to me; Tavros is the stubborn type, y'know? Lives up to his bull status. Once he's got a plan in his head, he won't stop until he does somethin' about it, but what I'm saying is that he couldn't stand it, after a while, and I knew it. He left his job, but..." His voice trailed off, and Dave stared up at the ceiling, his nose wrinkling slightly at his own emotion; this is what he hated about therapy, he hated that the purpose was uprooting old problems to solve new ones, that the end result was him raw and exposed and undoubtedly wrong about some aspect of his life.   


"It wasn't me that saved him, he saved himself. He got himself outta that lifestyle. But, it's like I never got that shit outta my system all the way." He shook his head, "But I got used to protecting him, regardless. I got accustomed to being his knight. I knew damn well that he had other clients. Tavros was popular, anybody with half a brain cell and a pair of working eyeballs coulda told you that. But they weren't me, and that mattered, you know? It was just mindless and awful and he felt like a tool to be used and cast aside, not like he meant anything to anybody. And I just..." Scowling, he waved a hand at Rose, irritated with himself, "You know what I mean?"  


Thinly, she smiled, her head tilting to the side and back some so that she was looking at him from past the curve of her cheek, "No, I can't say that I do."  


Scrubbing at his stubbly cheeks and chin with his palm, Dave grimaced at his own feelings. He felt like some kind of schoolboy admitting he had a crush on the high school football quarterback, vying for attention that he didn't have. The tanned man groaned, shutting his eyes as he admitted slowly, "It's corny, but I wanted to save him from that. I didn't trust anyone that looked at him, got close to him, even people I knew and trusted. 'Cause, I mean. Shit, Gamzee fucking found him and had sex with him to get back at me, it was like nobody I knew could be around Tav 'cause the moment I kept my eye off him was the moment shit went down."  


"Ahh," Now they were at the center of this issue, the real catalyst for his odd behavior and haste in being overprotective. Rose knew that there could be other issues: the way Dave was raised, personal problems with how he expressed his love, the way he and Gamzee shared their affection. However, this stepping stone was crucial in beginning to tear down his relationships and start anew. It was time to begin something that wasn't based on sex or revenge, but something that was legitimately fortified with love and kindness. "Now, you are starting to understand. There is always a reason for your behavior, David. And being aware of those reasons can help you to reconfigure your actions. You didn't really want to yell at him or constrict who he talked to or interacted with. That doesn't excuse your behavior," She was quick to add, "But it does explain it and that is a good start."  


"Right. Only problem is, Tavros has dropped off the face of the earth."  


"Whatever do you mean?"  


"He's gone MIA but MIA in the sense that he's at home, 'nd me and Gamzee know that; he just doesn't want to see me and once Gamzee could walk and eat on his own, he left."  


"Left just physically or in his red quadrant?"  


"I dunno about Gamzee. But he left me physically. I haven't slept a goddamn wink since then. It was right after our meeting with you."   


"I see. And you have reason to believe that this is my doing?"  


"It was bound to happen eventually, this just expedited the process."  


"Alright. What else is going on?"  


Leaning down, his forearms braced on his knees, and he stared at his cousin with a dim light to his irises. It was a smoldering flame, beaten and weary but determined all the same, and she was grateful that he was at least trying, at least sifting through ever changing emotions and past experiences to travel to the core of whatever problems were there. He didn't say anything, and Rose could tell that he was somewhere else, that dull glaze to his eyes meaning that his brain was occupied with something else entirely. She let him contemplate for a while, wading through memories, hypotheses, the feelings tied to them, before she asked, voice quiet but stern, "Why do you think Tavros was going to leave?"   
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Why do you think Tavros was going to leave you and Gamzee, and that my meeting expedited the process?"  
  
"Just makes sense. If you smother someone, they're gonna wanna leave eventually."  
  
"And you believe he'll come back?"   
  
"Listen. Me 'nd Tav always end up back together somehow. I don't wanna start sayin' shit like it's 'fate' with a capital F or any nonsense like that, but," Dave threw a shoulder up in a nonchalant shrug, leaning back as he crossed his arms, "I do feel as though we belong together. And there's no one else that I want to be with."

A sly smile, "And why is that?"

A flare of a blush, "I'm not gonna repeat that, you witch. I love him and that's that. That's all the reason you need."

There was some silence, and Dave picked up his mug, one handed, fingers curling into the ceramic as he pressed the edge to his lips, took a sip of coffee. He was going to start training for ISA matches again, though he hadn't told anyone about it, yet. The sentiment of being an individual left by Tavros was one he took seriously, and Dave found that he was too wrapped up in bullshit, complicated, encompassing, addicting romance to do anything in mind of boxing. A part of him yearned for the beginning, when Tavros was still looking for his three hundreds, when Gamzee still hit him up for hate-dates, when everything was separated and not all mixed together, inseparable. 

Noticing that he was lost in his thoughts again, Rose opened her mouth, but was promptly interrupted by Dave suddenly standing, his hand setting down his mug, then grabbing his shades to flip them unfolded and onto the bridge of his nose. He straightened out his clothes, trying to put casualness back into his stance after being so abrupt, a sense of urgency shading his tone, "I need to go." 

Bewildered, Rose stood as well, "Where?" 

"I just - I gotta get some flowers. Bye. Uh. Thanks, too. But bye." All choppy sentences aside, Dave hurried for the door, stopped, turned around, gave a quick hug to his cousin and hissed that if she told anyone that he actually  _hugged_ her, he was going to have her head on a pole for all to see, flies included. With an amused smile, she waved to his form, calling her farewell as he rushed out. 

 

\--------

 

He didn't want to bother him, God, he didn't want to bother him. But Dave was a man of principle, and he sure as hell wasn't above apologizing when he was utterly, stupendously wrong. If this was petty, he would have let it slide; the Strider would have moved on, called it quits, kept the punches rolling. This was different, there was too much riding on this singular, stretched-thin bond between himself and his boyfriend, and he never wanted there to be a time when he couldn't call Tavros that - his boyfriend. He never wanted anyone to bring up the brownblood, and he would have to say, grudgingly, 'my ex.' Never did he want there to be a moment when the tie keeping them together had been sliced by the knife of his own foolishness. He'd be fucking damned if he'd let his own ignorance ruin the first solidified relationship he had after Gamzee. 

So he knocked on the door once, twice, three times. It wasn't as good as it was last time, he didn't dress like he was getting ready for an event, he was still in his dark jeans and a loose shirt that was wrinkled some since he left his laundry in the dryer instead of folding it. Dave still had the jitters, like he was a virgin or he had never kissed anyone before, but he definitely didn't try to radiate confidence like he had tricked himself into believing so many times before. This was the unadulterated Dave, this was the Dave that was in love and stupid and trying to make things right. 

Reluctantly, the door opened, a crack, just like before.

"Tavros," He held out a brown iris and a red rose, his hand shaking slightly, "I'm so sorry for what I've done."

 


	23. Fool Me Once

This was just like before, he mused. The same flowers, the same man, the same apartment. He supposed that it was much less creepy, considering there was no using his phone number to track his current address, and there was no fear of an unstable indigoblood appearing and doing damage. Out of the two, Dave was much less outwardly aggressive and he hadn't a penchant for violence outside of ISA matches; Gamzee, although he had not yet clearly displayed this side to Tavros, was still of an indigo hue and that meant his genetics were merely predisposed for lashing out. It had all been verbal, up until this point, but Tavros was not going to take any chances. He wanted to be as hidden as possible for a while, he needed to work on rebuilding himself; he was still, technically, unemployed, and was just living on whatever money he had saved all that time before. 

The stems felt heavy and imposing in his hands, and he shuffled into the kitchen, where Dave followed eagerly after shutting the door behind him. "I know it's cliché, even more cliché than before," He admitted hastily, watching Tavros, as he had before, fill a glass vase with water from the tap and set the stems of the flowers inside, "But I still mean it, Tavros. I mean it just like I did before. I talked to Rose and I understood some shit about myself that I never gave any mind to but now I'm working on it, I'm working  _through_  it, you know?"

"You can't, um." Browning eyes stared down at the stainless steel of the sink, pupils focused on the droplets of water that had stilled in the basin and close to the drain, and the troll tightened his grip on the edge of the counter, frowning, "You can't just win me over with flowers and an apology, Dave. It cannot work, like this," Tavros gestured vaguely, "Every single time."

Dave furrowed his brows, walking into the kitchen, then flinched as Tavros took a step back, "What do you mean?" 

Slowly, he directed his gaze to the one behind shades, and Dave, belatedly, pulled the shades from his eyes, unmasking them, displaying every shred of emotion that Tavros could ever want to see. Tavros frowned at him, "Do you think that is all I am worth? Just...just some flowers, and an apology? I could not care less about flowers, flowers do not do, anything, nothing worth mentioning, at least. I don't want them."

"Then..." It didn't take a rocket scientist to understand that Tavros was clearly rejecting his apology, but Dave’s mind struggled to understand _why_ he was rejecting it, “What do you want?” The troll could not honestly think that Dave had reduced him to a bouquet he bought in a rushed, though thoughtful, panic after leaving Rose’s informal session, it did not seem as though that was something Tavros would truly believe. But, at the same time, it was not as if Dave had shown Tavros his best side in those past weeks; all he had done was strangle the life out of him with his overbearing emotions, all Dave had offered to their relationship was a heavy-breathed dragon that coiled overprotectively around its victim in a tower. He blinked twice, the crimson of his eyes widening slowly as Tavros walked around him, “I want you to leave.”

“Can we…” He swallowed thickly and inched out of the kitchen as Tavros stood in the threshold of his apartment, close to the door, “We can’t talk about this, huh? No real discussion to be had, Mr. Nitram? I shoulda guessed you’d be scouting for a real, proper, Southern gentleman apology,” The joke died as quickly as he said it, and Dave felt ice prick his veins as he scrambled for anything to say, anything to do that would make Tavros want him back, “Can I come by next week? When everything’s not as,” He swallowed again, the lump in his throat only seeming to grow, to strangle him, nervous sweat stabbing his forehead, his underarms, his palms, “Taut.”

“Maybe,” Tavros replied, stone cold, “I don’t know when I will be okay again, Dave.”

Dave’s upper body lurched forward some, as if he was going to begin moving, but his legs knew better than to encroach on Tavros’ space and forced him to stay behind, “But you will be, baby, I know you. Nothin’s stopped you before.”

Some silence settled between the two men, and Tavros walked forward, eliminating the feet between himself and Dave. The Strider stood completely still, rigid as the bark of a giant oak, afraid of this new rapid advancement that made his heart thud uncontrollably against ribs, muscle, skin. Tavros stood nearly toe to toe to him, close enough that Dave could see the sweet chocolate-brown of his eyes and those slits of pupils, he saw the faint deeper gray of his sparse freckles that peppered his nose, below his eyes, and Dave noticed that, strangely, the other troll was just as nervous as he was. There was that characteristic bite to the inside of his cheek, the flicker of his tapered ears upwards, a bead of sweat down his temple; who were they kidding, anyway? Things like this were meant to be, Dave knew that it had to be true, there was nothing in his heart that made him want to stay away from Tavros, there was no voice that told him that separation would help. He didn’t care if it was foolish or juvenile, if Tavros would take him, just take him for all his flaws, Dave vowed to do right this time. To fix what he had broken and make it better than it was before.

But Tavros wasn’t saying anything, he was simply standing, staring. Dave noticed that, in all his own observing, the troll was doing the same thing; looking, noting things for future reference, inwardly keeping track of all that was the same and all that was different.

“I am still flushed for you, you know,” He mumbled, and it took every ounce of Dave’s self-control not to envelope Tavros in a hug; he was getting that look in his eyes, the one where he was self-loathing, the same dullness that Dave had seen months prior, when Tavros was still working as a prostitute and stripper. The human tilted his head slightly to the side, watching Tavros closely as he bent his head to look down, “I love you too, Tav. And I know that I’ve fucked up, and a couple sessions with my cousin isn’t going to fix all that’s rattling about between my ears. But I…I want you to know that I’m trying. And I won’t stop trying for you. I really don’t think I’m capable of lovin’ anybody but you, my heart ain’t big enough nor patient enough. You know me, Tav,” He wished he could stop his mouth but it kept going, his heart had traveled up his spine and kicked his brain out his ears to take hold of his vocal chords like reins to a horse, “You know me better than anybody else. You can give one look at me and know if I’m upset or pissed off or, fuck, I don’t know, hungry. You’re so driven and beautiful and stubborn as all fuck, and you never had to deal with me, you never had to open your heart to some boxer with a habit of fucking prostitutes, but you _did_ , and now look where we are. We’re far from broken, baby, you know that, you gotta know that, but I won’t deny that there’s some shit we both gotta work out.”

“Yes,” His head suddenly snapped up, and Dave stiffened, his jaw setting abruptly in silence, and Tavros slapped a hand to his own forehead, shaking his head back and forth for a moment, “That is, that is exactly it. We both have things that we must, uh. Go through. Understand. I think we need time apart.”

His eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, “So you’re breaking up with me?”

Tavros returned his look, only there was an air of confusion, “No? You can be, together with someone, but apart from them, Dave. And I want to be apart from you.”

“Tav- _Jesus-!”_ Dave reached up, scrubbing at his face with the heels of his hands as he took a step back, frustrated, “What the hell is that gonna accomplish?”

“We have not yet figured out how to, grow with each other.” Tavros responded, crossing his arms with a mild frown, “Think about it. We, uh, had to attend counseling. You haven’t boxed at an ISA match, in months, and I don’t even have a job right now. We both, no, all _three_ of us, need to take some time, to get a proper foundation for our own lives before we start investing in someone else.”

It made sense, it made perfect sense, but that was Tavros; somehow, he always knew what to say or do, or, at least, Dave thought so. Nothing was working right now, so perhaps time apart would give them the right environment to make things right in their respective worlds, “You’re right,” He uttered, “I haven’t boxed in a long time. I miss it.”

“Then go do it,” Tavros urged, “I am tired of watching you, waste away like this.” As if he were not doing the same thing.

Dave lowered his hands to his sides limply, staring hard at the white tiles of the kitchen; he was tired of wasting away, too. Months ago, he had been something of a legend, a star, but now, he was just a deflated version of himself, and he’d have to start from the beginning.

“The beginning,” He nodded, lips set in a tight line, “Let’s start from the beginning, Tavros.”


	24. Old Habits Never Really Die

“Oh, oh, I see. Back again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“See, I knew it would be like this,” He blinked at her a bit blankly, watching as the curvy woman lit another one of the many candles in the room, adding vanilla to the scent of various fruits, “Someone like you? A natural born performer? You don’t know how to do anything but please others. It was just a matter of time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We even kept your old room. Honey wanted to take it but I said, ‘no, no. He’s _made_ for this, huh? He’ll be back.’ And, look at that! You’re back,” She smiled, laughing, her red lips pulling back to show her straight rows of blunt teeth, “Mama is always right, isn’t she?”

Tavros nodded wordlessly, and the woman, his boss, sat at her desk. He remembered all those months ago, when he first came here, desperate for some means of income after being laid off. She had stroked his face with her thumb, told him not to cry, never to cry, because a ‘pretty little thing’ like him could get whatever he wanted. All he had to do was work for it, and he had to give her a piece of his prizes; she deserved it, after all, for all her generosity. She let him work in her establishment, let him flourish under those bright lights and become a star. The troll didn’t consider himself much of a star at all, but his name garnered anticipating looks and bated breath, so he supposed that returning after a hiatus would do his reputation some good.

All her brown hair piled atop her head in an immaculate bun, no hair out of place. There was something about Madame Wronski that was both inviting and incredibly offputting. For a messy place like this, she kept herself neat, tidy, always presentable, as if she were going to a business meeting instead of watching all her little workers flounce around in barely-there outfits. That was one thing he could respect about Madame Wronski, among other traits; she managed her work as though it were a Fortune 500 company and not the, admittedly illegal, business it truly was. He wasn’t sure how long the establishment had even been there, but it looked like the typical stripper joint and Tavros had been expecting the typical nights, but now he had thrown himself into something bigger than he could have ever imagined.

“Your little contract is still with me, baby boy,” She hummed, moving her rolling leather chair to a filing cabinet, then opened the second drawer to sift through it, “But you cost Mama money! All that time you spent out was time you _should_ have spent working. I know you have some issues going on. I might be human, but I know those indigobloods,” Her hand gestured around vaguely, not meaning much but there for emphasis, “Unstable, you know. So I’ll take pity on you, and you only pay three-fourths of what you owe me, okay?”

He swallowed, feeling his Adam’s apple bob in his throat; he had crawled back to her under the assumption his slate had been wiped clean, but he should have known better. Madame Wronski loved money more than her performers, and he sighed through his nose. She wasn’t intimidating alone, but he knew her connections and had he not come back soon enough, it would have been easily to wipe him from existence and force a new performer to take his place, to be the new Cinnamon. It wasn’t like Madame Wronski was that picky with who she put out on stage, and that more general eye kept a loyal clientele. Rather than slotting only women and men that fit a certain mold, Madame Wronski took in trolls, humans, men, women, people that identified as nothing and people that identified as anything else. Any sexuality or identification, any color, religion, ethnicity or body type, she took in anyone willing to learn her stringent itinerary and hierarchy. There was a time where Tavros was at the top of that hierarchy and he was a model performer, he worked well and worked efficiently, other performers looked to him for guidance and as what they should aspire to be. But when he vanished, he assumed that he had not only let down all his old clients, but some aimless souls that clung to his example.

“This much,” She set the file on the desk, facing Tavros, who took two steps to the desk and traced the four digit number with his finger, parroting her in disbelief, “This much?”

“You can do it,” She laughed, sitting back in her seat with her hands on her stomach, “I take half of your hard-earned money every night, and you’ll be done in no time, huh? I won’t even let all the other little ones know how much you owe to me, how much I own you, Cinnamon.”

His brown eyes flicked up to her, to the settled gray of her older irises, and he saw that, despite her casual tone of voice, he hadn’t any choice. He was reliant on her for work, and if he paid her back, perhaps she could help him should he ever need it; besides, he was already thankful that she had taken off a fourth of the sum he owed, which would make this an easier, though still daunting, task. The troll wet his lips, thinking hard, then nodded, his eyes avoiding the scribble of his name on his contract, the contract stating the nights he was to work, what kinds of outfits he was allowed to wear, and even his work name, written in lovely, looped handwriting he knew belonged to Madame Wronski. The amount he owed towered above his signature, and the digits etched themselves into his thinkpan.

“I can start tonight,” He promised, and the Madame placed the file back within the confines of the cabinet, “Oh? You still remember all your routines?”

His gaze hardened, “I never forgot them. What slots, are open?”

“Ambrosia is sick,” Madame Wronski looked him up and down, smiling lopsidedly, “Take her slot tonight, ten to two, right side, baby boy. I’ll get some little ones to fix your room.”

“Thank you, Madame Wronski,” Tavros leaned over the desk as her hand came up, and he kissed the back of it, practiced movements from a time that seemed so long ago, “I will be here, tonight, at nine.”

“Good boy,” She praised, and Tavros looked away pointedly, heading to the door before he was stopped, Madame Wronski singing, “Welcome back, baby boy.”


	25. (Un)Healthy Competition

Something was wrong, horribly wrong, but he couldn’t get to the root of problem without the root of the problem answering his calls, his texts, his anythings. It was like he had just disappeared again, like before, and Gamzee hated clichés like this, he hated that he had to go find his love. It was as if they were playing this long winded game of hide and go seek; Tavros would hide and Gamzee would cry to his matesprit, Gamzee would hide in Valston with drugs pumping through his heart and now it was Tavros’ turn again and Gamze hadn’t even been given a proper countdown. He couldn’t think of what the brownblood could be so stressed about; they had gone to therapy, and Gamzee was back and cleared of whatever clear slime they’d pumped into his veins, but now Tavros had vanished.  
  
“ ‘S like he can’t survive without there bein’ some kinda issue,” He mumbled face first into a pillow on the couch, “He went through all that trouble t’get me, to /find/ me, ‘nd this is what he does. I’m here, y’know? I’m motherfuckin’ here, and he just runs off. ‘M supposed to be in fuckin’ dumbshit Valston but I’m not!”  
  
“To be fair,” He started, a thick brow curving up, “From what you told me, you and Strider had a practical two-second scream match at Rose’s place. I wouldn’t want to be around either of you after that.”  
  
“I was protecting him,” Gamzee muttered miserably, “Strider can’t just go around sayin’ whatever the fuck he wants to somebody he claims to be flushed for.”  
  
Karkat sighed slowly through his nose, “Did you ever think that maybe Tavros doesn’t want to be saved all the time?”  
  
“What the hell kinda nonsense is that?”  
  
“Any time anything happens, before he even has a chance to react, somebody is out there sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong. Caring is one thing but babying him and stifling every movement is another.”  
  
Gamzee didn’t believe that for a second; although he usually believed anything Karkat said, especially about romance, it was hard to think of Tavros as somebody that didn’t need protecting. In the Makara’s eyes, Tavros was hardly capable of taking care of himself; the brownblood was so concerned about ensuring the happiness of others that his own health, and the declining of it, often went unnoticed. So it was up to Gamzee to step in and make sure everything was proper for him. He wouldn’t let anybody, not even his own kismesis, talk to Tavros like that, treat him that way.  
  
“Karbro, lemme explain somethin’ to you,” He sat up, one of his legs up and bent at the knee with his arm resting on it, “Tavros is really special to me. No matter what, no matter how many times I motherfuckin’ do somethin’ dumb as all hell, or upset him, or scare him, he still is flushed for me. Now, I ‘unno ‘bout my business with Dave. But if there’s one thing I’m sure about, Tavros has always loved me, and he’s been through some shit a’ his own. He deserves the best from me, ‘nd that means I gotta do whatever I can to make sure he ain’t hurt in any form. Even if ‘s somethin’ little.”  
  
Karkat pinched the bridge of his nose, “You didn’t listen to a word I said.This whole shitshow is just an intertangled mess of you and Strider flouncing about being the knights to your local princess. But, fucking newsflash, Gamzee, the local princess wants zero percent, no, negative forty seven percent of anybody’s meddling. Did you, for one tiny, measly second, consider that maybe, just maybe, the person you should be dedicating all this energy to isn’t Tavros, but yourself? You scrounged a pisspoor justification out your ass to your indigoblooded brothers, who would jump the second the giant ass GHB gives the fucking signal for you to be torn limb from limb, just to live in some scraggly place that’s half as close as Valston is, which, for the record, is still hours from Tavros, or anything or anybody worth mentioning, for that matter. Your income from your highblood half-lusus, half-torturer was shaved off as part of your punishment, so not only can you pretty much only pay for your apartment and necessities, you can’t even go indulging in all those irresponsible vices of yours. The skinny is that you, Gamzee ‘Dickguzzler’ Makara, are totally, undoubtedly, stuck. And you’ve done nothing but lament into your two-bit couch about some brownblood off making things better for himself or staving off an affection-hungry human. Hoo-fucking-ray.” He threw his hands up in exasperation, frustrated that his moirail could be so oblivious to the world around him and zero in on his matesprit, who was, in Karkat’s eyes, flailing and zipping away to try to find some dark corner to sort things out in himself.  
  
“I get that you’re flushed for him. Believe me, I understand that,” A slow sigh left his mouth, “But how can you expect to be somebody that Tavros wants to be around when you’re still trying to organize things for yourself?”  
  
Gray ears flattened to a mess of dark curls, and Gamzee bent his head, staring down at the cushions of his couch. Being in a compromising situation only made him want Tavros more. In the Block, he thought only of Tavros and how he couldn’t wait to have him in his arms again, to kiss his face and make love to him, make love to him like he was never going to see him again. Except, he hadn’t seen him, and he hadn’t made love to him, and Gamzee was alone, cold, singular, stuck in the Block again. Again, again, again.  
  
“Karkat,” His jaw set for a second, then shook his head, “Just because that sorta shit works for you and Sollux don’t mean it works for me and Tavros. I’m in a constant fuckin’ competition with Dave, I gotta stay on my fuckin’ toes because that human is selfish as all get around. I’m his kismesis, you don’t think he doesn’t wanna get the upperhand on me ‘nd get his fuckin’ rocks off all simultaneous like? All I know is that Tavros has two motherfuckers that love him to the moon ‘nd back, and he still manages to get hurt, which means one of those motherfuckers ain’t doin’ their job to ensure his happiness. And I ain’t the motherfucker.”  
  
The cherryblood simply watched him in mild exasperation; there was no getting through to Gamzee like that, not when he had something in his mind already. He had a fixed notion in his head that was unchanging, and Karkat wasn’t sure what he could do to convince him of otherwise. They had had talks like this before, and it always ended with the same, beaten down conclusion: Gamzee had to protect Tavros, to keep him happy and because Dave wasn’t doing it right.  
  
Competition in a kismesisstude was healthy and necessary, but competition involving other quadrants was simply messy and rarely ended well. Karkat only saw this, without any real changes, ending with all three of them separating. It would probably be better that way, if anyone asked him, but it seemed that his opinions, and outside perspective, were hardly valued. Being immersed in a scathing, asphyxiating, tormenting relationship like that could make anyone too stuck to understand what anyone else was saying about it, and Karkat could only assume that that was why Rose’s session all went to shit as opposed to any brief understanding. He wasn’t any type of knowledgeable source about therapy sessions, but he had thought that the purpose was to make things better, not worse; then again, if the patients weren’t willing to fix anything, nothing would be done to begin with.  
  
“It wouldn’t have to be a competition if you just talked to him. You’re worried so much about Tavros, but you still have another relationship,” His gaze hardened some when Gamzee’s concerned purple eyes fixated on his, “Work on yourself for now. Cool off. But don’t forget that Dave Strider is still your kismesis.”  
  
“In title only,” Gamzee grumbled, discontent, “Dunno what we are now.”  
  
“You could fix that, too, if you actually spoke to him about anything. Remember, your tie to Dave used to not involve Tavros whatsoever.”  
  
“I guess that’s true…” Gamzee huffed, “I don’t wanna talk to him right now. He’s pro’lly worried about Tav ‘nd that would mean our whole conversation would turn to ‘im ‘nd not us.”  
  
This, surprisingly logical, revelation, made Karkat feel less like a failure as Gamzee’s moirail and he hoped that his own reasoning capabilities had rubbed off on the indigo, “Give it some time, then. Talk to Dave first, work things out. He might be an idiot, but he’s not so much an idiot that he won’t try to find a compromise.”  
  
That much was true; Dave would likely try to find the road that benefited both parties, but that was also assuming that the Strider was the same person he had hated before, and things could very well be different. Taking in a gradual breath, Gamzee scrubbed at his eyes with his fists, watching colors explode and swirl and dart behind his eyes. Something had to work, anything was better than this.


End file.
